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ON  THE   HEADWATERS 
OF  PEACE   RIVER 


Limestone  Pkak  ovkrlooking  Qiaimcha  Tokks. 


ON  THE  HEADWATERS 
OF  PEACE  RIVER 


A  NARRATIVE  OF  A  THOUSAND-MILE  CANOE  TRIP 

TO  A  LITTLE-KNOWN  RANGE  OF  THE 

CANADIAN   ROCKIES 


BY 

PAUL    LELAND    HAWORTH 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PATH  OF  GLORY," 

'CEORCE  WASHINGTON:  FARMER."  "BY  PACK-TRAIN  TO  MOUNT  DALHOUSIE,"  "THE  'tOMCB 

OF  FRENCH  RIVER,"  "A  MODERN  VIKING,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1921 

L  1  0  tj  i 


Copyright,  1917.  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  1917 


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^  "I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  are  to  have  a  fine, 

^V«  large  trip  in  the  Canadian  Rockies,  into  a  remote 

and  little-known  wilderness.     I  hope  that  you 

will  be  able  to  go  beyond  the  farthest  camping- 

^  ground  and  the  last  tin  can." 


— Dr.  William  T.  Hornaday  to  the  author, 
March  8,  1916. 


PREFACE 

As  a  boy  I  fixed  my  heart  on  being  a  naturalist;  I 
learned  how  to  skin  and  stuff  animals  and  birds;  I  read 
every  book  on  natural  history  and  wild  life  on  which  I 
could  lay  my  hands.  But  at  the  university  I  entered 
the  only  life  that  was  considered  worthy  of  study  was 
that  of  blind  fish  or  of  minute  organisms  whose  wriggling 
forms  could  be  seen  only  through  a  high-power  micro- 
scope. I  did  some  such  zoology  as  this  at  the  university 
biological  station,  but  I  specialized  in  history  and  gave  up 
my  original  ambition. 

For  many  years  I  was  a  student  of  books,  a  seeker 
after  vain  degrees  conferred  by  pompous  pedagogues  in 
parti-colored  gowns.  Nay  more,  for  a  time  I  was  a 
pedagogue  myself  in  a  great  university  beside  the  Hudson 
and  lived  in  the  land  of  the  **  Modern  Cliff  Dwellers," 
harassed  by  the  roar  of  elevated  trains  and  breathing 
the  fetid  air  of  the  great  metropolis  of  the  western  world. 
I  delved  into  dry  subjects  in  musty  libraries,  wrote 
books  that  I  hoped  would  seem  learned,  and  came  to 
have  the  pale  face  and  stooping  shoulders  of  the  pro- 
fessional pundit. 

But  the  primeval  instinct  was  not  entirely  extin- 
guished. A  month's  fishing  one  golden  autumn  among 
the  Thirty  Thousand  Islands  that  fringe  the  iron-bound 
coast  of  Lake  Huron  revived  old  and  half-forgotten  feel- 


viii  PREFACE 

ings.     Mv   youthful   love  of  horses  and  guns,  of  clear 
water  and  the  open  country,  surged  up  once  more  hot 
and  fierce;  the  thin  veneer  of  supercivilization  began  to 
slough  away.    Thencefonvard,  except  as  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness, I  read  little  save  the  books  of  explorers,  naturalists, 
and  hunters,  and  many  were  the  golden  hours  I  spent 
with   Gordon-Cumming,    Stanley,    doughty    Sir   Samuel 
Baker,  Selous,  Hornaday,  White,  and  Roosevelt.     With 
Peary  I  travelled  every  foot  of  his  twenty  years*  weary 
journey  to  the  pole;  I  went  with  Amundsen  on  both  his 
Arctic  quests;  there  was  hardly  a  hunter  or  adventurer 
in  any  land  or  clime  who  was  not  my  bosom  friend  and 
companion  in  wild  experiences.     Best  of  all  I  liked  the 
penetrators  of  our  own  American  northland.     I  crossed 
the  Continent  with  Mackenzie  and  descended  with  him 
the  great  river  that  bears  his  name;  with  old  Samuel 
Hearne   I   traversed   snowy  wastes   to  the  Coppermine 
and  shuddered  with  him  at  the  massacre  at  Bloody  Falls; 
with  Whitney,  the  Tyrrells,  Hanbur>%  Thompson  Seton, 
and  Warburton  Pike  I  visited  the  Barren  Grounds,  was 
bitten  by  myriads  of  mosquitoes,  saw  the  musk-ox  and 
la  joule  of  the  caribou,  shivered  in  icy  tents,  famished  in 
times  of  famine,  feasted  when  flesh  was  abundant,  and 
breathed  the  scent  from  the  myriad  of  flowers  in  summer. 
Nor  was  I  content  with  second-hand  enjoyment  alone. 
One  fall  I  made  a  trip  to  the  mountains  about  the  head- 
waters of  the  Saskatchewan  and  Athabasca  Rivers,  and, 
though  the  trip  had  to  be  a  short  one  and  in  some  re- 
spects was  disappointing,  it  served  to  whet  my  appetite. 
I  had  hardly  returned  from  it  before  I  began  to  look  for- 


PREFACE  ix 

ward  to  and  then  to  plan  a  trip  that  should  be  a  real  trip, 
and  that  is  how  I  happen  to  be  writing  this  book. 

It  is  no  longer  an  easy  task  to  find  in  North  America 
a  primeval  wilderness — even  a  little  one — in  which  to 
indulge  a  fondness  for  wandering  in  remote  regions 
"beyond  the  farthest  camping-ground  and  the  last  tin 
can/*  Labrador  has  been  penetrated,  the  Barren  Grounds 
have  repeatedly  been  traversed,  and  Alaska  has  yielded 
up  her  geographical  secrets  to  argonauts  drawn  thither 
by  the  lure  of  gold.  For  some  years,  however,  my  eyes 
were  turned  longingly  toward  a  region  that  seemed  to 
promise  a  persevering  traveler  an  opportunity  to  set  his 
foot  where  no  other  white  man  had  been — at  least  no 
white  man  who  had  left  a  record  of  his  journey. 

Far  up  in  northern  British  Columbia  the  mighty 
Peace  River  takes  its  rise,  and  after  gathering  to  itself 
the  waters  of  a  vast  area,  breaks  its  way  eastward  through 
the  barrier  of  the  Rockies  toward  the  Mackenzie  and  the 
Arctic  Sea.  The  Peace  is  formed  by  the  junction  of 
two  streams — the  Parsnip  flowing  up  from  the  south  and 
the  Finlay  flowing  down  from  the  north.  The  main 
course  of  each  of  these  streams  is  fairly  well  known, 
though  the  Finlay  has  rarely  been  ascended.  Extended 
research  enabled  me  to  learn  that  in  1824  John  Finlay, 
in  the  interest  of  the  Northwest  Fur  Company,  ascended 
the  river  that  now  bears  his  name  to  one  of  its  sources 
in  Thutade  Lake;  his  journal  of  the  trip  was  long  pre- 
served at  Cumberland  House  but  has  now  been  lost. 
However,  about  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  Mr.  J.  B. 
Tyrrell  took  notes  from  it,  and  through  his  courtesy  I 


X  PREFACE 

am  able  to  publish  them  in  an  appendix.  In  1873  Cap- 
tain W.  F.  Butler  ascended  the  Peace  and  went  up  the 
Finlay  about  fifteen  miles  to  a  western  tributary,  the 
Omineca;  fought  his  way  up  this  stream  some  distance; 
and  later  published  a  short  account  of  the  region  in  his 
book  entitled  The  Jf'ild  Northland.  In  the  sixties  and 
at  intervals  thereafter  a  few  prospectors  panned  some  of 
the  lower  Finlay  bars  for  gold.  For  many  years  there 
has  been  a  tiny  Hudson's  Bay  trading-post  about  sixty 
miles  up-stream,  and  to  this  post  the  Indians  of  the 
region  resort  to  sell  their  furs.  In  1893  the  Canadian 
Geographical  Survey  sent  out  a  party,  headed  by  R.  G. 
McConnell,  which  ascended  the  Finlay  to  the  Fishing 
Lakes  above  the  Long  Canyon,  and  McConnell  drew  a 
map  of  the  river  and  wrote  a  description  of  the  region 
from  a  geological  point  of  view.  A  few  years  later  would- 
be  Klondikers  attempted  to  use  the  river  as  a  link  on 
their  way  to  the  Yukon  country  and  experienced  many 
hardships  from  cold  and  hunger  and  narrowly  escaped  a 
conflict  with  the  Indians. 

In  short,  though  Finlay  River  had  never  been 
"written  up"  In  a  popular  way,  its  main  course  was 
well  enough  known,  and  I  had  no  great  difficulty  in  as- 
certaining a  number  of  facts  about  it.  I  learned,  for 
example,  that  most  of  the  western  tributaries  had  all 
been  more  or  less  explored  by  prospectors,  for  it  was 
from  these  western  streams  that  the  precious  gold-dust 
came.  But  to  the  eastward  of  the  Finlay  is  a  great  stretch 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains — the  stretch  lying  south  of  the 
Liard  River  and  north  of  Laurier  Pass— that  had  never 


PREFACE  xi 

been  explored;  and  there  existed  rumors,  started  by 
trappers  who  had  sought  pelts  along  the  border-land,  that 
hidden  away  in  the  ranges  there  were  "peaks  taller  than 
Mount  Robson." 

The  latest  attempt  to  enter  this  region  had  been  made 
in  1912  by  Mr.  Frederick  K.  Vreeland  in  the  interests  of 
the  United  States  Biological  Survey.  Mr.  Vreeland 
and  his  party  went  into  the  country  with  pack-horses 
from  Hudson's  Hope  on  Peace  River,  penetrated  slightly 
north  of  Laurier  Pass,  killed  specimens  of  caribou  and 
mountain-sheep,  and  were  turned  back  by  the  weather, 
rough  country,  and  down  timber.  Mr.  Vreeland  pre- 
sented some  of  the  results  of  this  journey  in  an  address 
before  the  American  Geographical  Society. 

I  believed  that  it  would  be  interesting  to  attempt  to 
enter  the  unexplored  country.  It  seemed  safe  to  assume 
that  one  would  be  likely  to  find  game  there;  the  trip 
thither  and  back  was  certain  to  be  worth  while;  and  merely 
to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  the  Canadian  Rockies 
would  be  a  pleasure  beyond  price. 

The  proposed  trip  appeared  the  more  feasible  because 
the  recent  completion  of  two  railroads  had  rendered  the 
region  I  wished  to  visit  more  accessible.  In  a  few  months 
I  would  be  able — if  all  went  well — to  make  a  journey  that 
only  recently  would  have  occupied  the  greater  part  of  a 
year.  From  Edmonton,  my  outfitting-place,  I  must  travel 
far  to  the  west,  then  far  to  the  north,  then  far  to  the  east, 
and  then  far  to  the  south  back  to  the  starting-point. 
Thanks  to  the  new  Grand  Trunk  Pacific,  I  could  do 
the  four  hundred  miles  of  the  westward  swing  in  less 


xii  PREFACE 

than  a  day  and  a  night,  while  the  just-finished  railroad 
to  Peace  River  Crossing  would  enable  me  to  cover  in 
the  same  manner  more  than  three  hundred  miles  of  the 
return. 

Ultimately  I  decided  to  make  the  venture.  I  had  no 
hope  or  expectation  of  exhaustively  exploring  the  region, 
or  of  making  any  great  addition  to  the  fund  of  geo- 
graphical knowledge.  Experiences  were  what  I  was  seek- 
ing. If  I  could  make  the  long  trip  successfully,  have  a 
bit  of  hunting  and  fishing,  and  determine  somewhat  gen- 
erally the  character  of  the  unexplored  mountain  region,  I 
should  feel  satisfied. 

I  set  out  for  the  remote  Northwest  alone. 


Paul  Leland  Haworth. 


Eastover,  West  Newton,  Indiana, 
March,  191 7. 


CONTENTS 


PACE 


Preface vii 

CHAPTER 

I.  The  Middle  Passage i 

II.  The  Portal ii 

III.  From  Pacific  to  Arctic  Waters  ....  35 

IV.  Golden  Days  on  Crooked  River       ...  48 
V.  From  Fort  McLeod  to  Finlay  Forks    .     .  70 

VI.  Bucking  the  Finlay 91 

VII.  A  Lucky  Day no 

VIII.  The  Last  Outpost 117 

IX.  Deserter's  Canyon 131 

X.  To  THE  Mouth  of  the  Quadacha      .     .     .  140 

XI.  What  Makes  the  Quadacha  White  ?      .     .  148 

XII.  The  Great  Glacier 178 

XIII.  We  Try  the  Fox  River  Range    ....  187 

XIV.  An  Experience  with  Mountain-Goats  .     .  197 
XV.  We  Turn  Down  to  the  Long  Canyon  .     .  208 

XVI.  An  Opportune  Meeting  with  a  Bear    .  218 

XVII.  Stone's  Mountain-Sheep    ......  226 

xiii 


xiv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.     We   Build  a   Raft  and   Run   Part  of  the 

Long  Canyon                     234 

XIX.     Back  to  Finlay  Forks 246 

XX.     The  Mighty  Peace  River 254 

XXI.     The  End  of  It 280 

Notes  from  John  Finlay's  Journal      ,     .  293 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Limestone  Peak  overlooking  Quadacha  Forks  .  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"Where  Poundmaker  and  other  befeathered  chieftains  once  built 

their  corrals,  and  slaughtered  the  buffaloes  by  thousands"  4 

A  glimpse  of  Mt.  Edith  Cavell 16 

Scow  running  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Fraser 18 

The  start  from  Hansard 36 

The  start  on  Summit  Lake 44 

On  the  divide  between  Pacific  and  Arctic  waters       ....  44 

Down  one  of  the  "  Wagon  Roads" 56 

Ivor  Guest  paddling  where  Crooked  River  becomes  a  consider- 
able stream 64 

Cut  bank  on  Parsnip  River 80 

Moose  run  down  by  Ivor  Guest  on  snow-shoes 82 

A  trapper's  main  camp 88 

Peterson's  place  at  Finlay  Forks     .........  88 

Cabin  of  a  trapper  who  went  to  the  war 106 

The  largest  log  jam  that  I  recall  lies  some  distance  below  Pete 

Toy's  Bar 106 

Poling  her  up  a  ripple 108 

Fort  Grahame  from  across  the  Finlay 118 

"A  more  ideal  spot  for  the  sport  could  not  be  found  in  a  dozen 

kingdoms" 134 

XV 


xvi  ILLUSTRATIONS 

fACINC  rACE 

An  Arctic  "trout" — they  arc  a  shapely  fish  with  a  long  black 

fin 134 

The  entrance  to  Deserter's  Canyon 136 

Three  Dolly  Varden  trout  caught  at  Desertp-'-  Canyon  138 

A  bear's  handiwork 138 

Quadacha  just  above  the  mouth 146 

Quadacha  above  the  Forks 146 

On  the  summit  of  Observation  Peak 180 

Looking  northeastward  from  Observation  Peak,  glacier  in  dis- 
tance    182 

"She  started  to  turn  away  but  she  was  too  late"      ....  192 

"I   came  in  sight  of  an  immense,   ragged  boulder,   'big  as  a 

house'  " 212 

Huston  party  on  way  up  mountains 222 

"He  was  a  fine,  fat,  black  hear" 222 

The  Finlay  Valley  and  the  Kitchener  Mountains  from  where  I 

shot  the  black  bear 224 

Our  camp  in  the  Balsam  Grove 230 

A  Stone's  Sheep 230 

"The   Camp   Robbers,  or  Canada  Jays,  found  our  meat-rack 

irresistibly  attractive" 232 

The  Gorge  of  Sheep  Creek 232 

"It  was  three  o'clock  .  .  .  before  the  good  craft  Necessity  was 

launched" 242 

Indian  graveyard  at  Fort  Grahame 248 

Gibson's  place  just  above  Finlay  Forks 248 

Slim  Cowart's  cabin  near  Mt.  Selwyn 256 

Rock  .Arch  on  Wicked  River 256 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xvii 


PACING  PACE 


The  entrance  to  Peace  River  Canyon 264 

Beaver  tepee  at  Hudson's  Hope 264 

Looking  back  at  the  Rockies  from  beyond  Clearwater   .      .      .  282 

The  Peace  below  Dui,  vegan 290 

MAPS 

FACING    PACE 

Map  of  the  headwaters  of  Peace  River  showing  route  taken 

by  the  author 8 

Map  of  the  Quadacha  and  Long  Canyon  country     ....  154 


ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF 
PEACE  RIVER 

CHAPTER   I 
THE  MIDDLE   PASSAGE 

I  REACHED  Winnipeg  early  one  July  morning  after 
the  most  unpleasant  railway  journey  it  had  ever  been 
my  misfortune  to  experience.  Practically  the  whole  of 
the  United  States  was  sweltering  under  a  hot  wave  of 
almost  unprecedented  severity,  and  it  was  not  until 
my  train  neared  the  Canadian  border  that  a  cool  breeze 
from  the  north  began  to  afford  relief.  A  night  spent  in 
a  St.  Paul  hotel  had  been  the  hottest  I  ever  suffered, 
but  my  stay  in  that  city  was  somewhat  recompensed  by 
a  long  conversation  with  a  charming-  old  gentleman  who 
had  settled  there  in  the  '50's,  when  St.  Paul  was  a  vil- 
lage and  Minneapolis  unthought  of,  and  who  had  many 
interesting  anecdotes  of  the  early  days,  and  of  his  friend 
"Jim'*  Hill.  I  also  recall,  with  an  enthusiasm  that  even 
the  memory  of  the  heat  is  unable  to  dim,  a  gorgeous 
blood-red  sunset  on  Lake  Pepin  seen  from  the  car  win- 
dow. 

Half  a  century  ago  the  westward  trip  from  Winnipeg, 
then  Fort  Garry,  across  the  Great  Plains  was  one  of 
unique  interest,  and  was  likely  to  be  attended  with 
numerous    adventures.    There    were    picturesque    half- 


2   ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

breeds,  creaking  Red  River  carts,  shaggy  buffaloes,  prong- 
horned  antelopes,  wild  Crees  and  Blackfeet;  and  the 
journey  occupied  months.  To-day  the  trip  takes  a  day 
and  a  night,  and  after  it  has  been  made  once  it  is  likely 
to.prove  a  bit  monotonous.  When  settled,  the  Canadian 
plains  become  as  tame  and  unexciting  as  the  Kansas 
prairies,  and  wheat  and  oat  fields  now  ripple  where 
Poundmaker  and  other  befeathered  chieftains  once  built 
their  corrals  and  slaughtered  the  buffaloes  by  thou- 
sands. It  is  progress,  civilization,  perhaps,  but  the 
change  half  saddens  me,  for  I  am  not  one  of  those  who 
want  to  see  the  whole  world  transformed  into  market- 
gardens,  or  staked  off  into  town  lots.  Where,  pray  tell 
me,  will  our  descendants  two  or  three  generations  re- 
moved go  to  find  their  wilderness .? 

The  monotony  of  the  trip  across  the  plains  in  the 
present  instance  was  greatly  relieved  by  evidences  that 
the  country  was  at  war.  Winnipeg  was  full  of  soldiers 
from  Camp  Hughes,  farther  west;  there  were  model 
trenches  dug  in  one  of  the  public  squares;  dead  walls 
were  crowded  with  exhortations  to  French  Canadians, 
Highlanders,  Scandinavians,  Americans,  and  even  Ice- 
landers to  **do  their  bit"  for  "King  and  Country"; 
while  every  train  bore  scores  of  men  in  uniform.  On  the 
sleeping-car  that  carried  me  westward  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance in  the  smoking-compartment  of  one  such, 
whom  I  shall  call  "Scotty."  Scotty  was  a  discharged 
veteran  of  the  immortal  "Princess  Pats,"  and  previously 
had  seen  service  among  the  kopjes  against  the  Boers. 
His  short,  stubby  body  bore  the  scars  of  four  wounds 


THE   MIDDLE   PASSAGE  3 

received  in  fighting  the  Germans,  and  he  had  lost  two 
fingers  of  one  hand,  and  half  of  a  foot.  He  told  some 
exciting  stories  of  his  military  experiences,  but,  being 
somewhat  "lit  up,"  seemed  prouder  of  his  exploits  in 
beating  the  prohibition  laws  of  Manitoba  than  of  his 
deeds  on  the  battle-field.  He  also  explained  with  glee 
how  he  was  hoodwinking  the  doctors  in  order  to  obtain 
extra  big  allowances  from  the  government,  and  shame- 
lessly declared  that  he  meant  to  get  all  he  "could  out  of 
it."  He  made  it  his  boast  that  he  was  never  able  to 
keep  money,  and  told  with  gusto  of  how  he  had  once 
had  nine  hundred  dollars  in  a  bank,  had  drawn  it  out, 
and  had  run  through  it  in  three  days.  A  Winnipeg  busi- 
ness man  who  listened  to  his  story  ventured  to  urge,  in 
a  fatherly  way,  that  he  ought  to  save  his  money  and 
settle  down,  but  Scotty  declared  with  great  determina- 
tion that  he  meant  to  die  without  a  cent. 

Alas  for  a  hero ! 

Altogether  different  in  character  was  another  sur- 
vivor of  the  same  regiment,  an  employee  in  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company's  store  at  Edmonton.  He  was  a  tall, 
erect  man  of  perhaps  thirty-five,  quiet  and  little  inclined 
to  talk  of  the  war.  By  questioning  him  I  ascertained 
that  he  had  lost  the  sight  of  one  eye  in  battle,  and  his 
description  of  the  hell  of  fire  that  virtually  destroyed 
his  regiment  did  not  differ  materially  from  Scotty's. 

"Did  you  feel  that  you  gave  as  good  as  you  re- 
ceived ?"  I  asked  him. 

"There  were  several  times  when  we  had  good  shoot- 
ing,"   he    said,    his    face    lighting    up    reminiscently. 


4   ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

"Twice  they  came  on  in  mass  formation,  and  we  simply 
piled  them  up  in  heaps.  We  considered  these  oppor- 
tunities a  recompense  for  what  we  suffered." 

The  story  of  the  Princess  Pats  is  one  of  the  most 
heroic  in  the  annals  of  war,  and  will  forever  be  trea- 
sured in  Canadian  history.  Enlisted  largely  from  among 
men  with  previous  military  experience  in  actual  warfare, 
it  was  early  at  the  front,  and  bore  without  flinching  pun- 
ishment that  few  organizations  have  ever  endured.  I 
talked  with  a  returned  veterinary  surgeon  who  told  me 
that  once  he  saw  the  regiment  when  it  could  put  only 
78  men  in  line,  and  there  are  stories  to  the  effect  that 
at  times  it  was  even  weaker. 

The  Grand  Trunk  Pacific,  on  which  I  was  travelling, 
runs  diagonally  from  Winnipeg  to  Edmonton  through 
comparatively  new  country,  and  one  saw  from  the  car- 
windows  occasional  evidences  of  wild  life.  Now  and 
then  coveys  of  prairie-chickens  rose  from  beside  the 
track,  while  the  presence  of  many  hawks  indicated  that 
the  chickens  did  not  always  enjoy  peace  and  safety  even 
during  the  closed  season.  The  number  of  hawks  one 
sees  upon  these  plains  is,  indeed,  discouragingly  large 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  preservation  of  small  game, 
and  serves  to  explain  why,  now  and  then,  in  the  fall 
especially,  some  of  the  States  in  the  Mississippi  Valley 
are  full  of  hawks,  both  big  and  little.  Fortunately,  hawks 
are  not  an  unmixed  evil,  as  they  destroy  great  numbers 
of  prairie-dogs,  mice,  and  other  vermin. 

Many  of  the  small  lakes  bore  coveys  of  ducks,  some 
of  them  not  yet  able  to  fly,  while  now  and  again  the 


THE  MIDDLE   PASSAGE  5 

traveller  beheld  a  musquash,  that  is,  a  muskrat,  swim- 
ming through  the  water,  usually  with  a  bunch  of  grass 
or  straw  in  his  mouth.  Some  of  the  muskrat  houses  on 
these  lakes  are  as  large  as  many  beaver  lodges  I  have 
seen.  A  few  of  the  lakes  are  so  heavily  impregnated 
with  alkali  that  they  are  avoided  not  only  by  animals, 
but  also  by  the  ducks  and  other  water-fowl. 

If  time  had  permitted  I  should  have  liked  to  stop 
for  a  day  or  two  at  Wainwright  to  visit  the  great  Canadian 
wild-animal  park.  We  saw  the  park  from  a  distance, 
but  could  distinguish  no  animals.  The  park  now  con- 
tains the  largest  herd  of  American  buffaloes  in  the  world, 
about  two  thousand,  to  say  nothing  of  moose,  antelope, 
and  other  animals.  The  buffaloes  represent,  in  the  main 
at  least,  the  celebrated  Pablo  herd,  which  the  United 
States  parsimoniously  permitted  to  be  sold  to  Canada 
and  sent  beyond  our  borders. 

Our  train  finally  reached  Edmonton  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and,  as  this  was  to  be  my  last  chance  at 
the  *' flesh-pots"  for  many  weeks,  I  put  up  at  a  new  pa- 
latial hotel  erected  by  one  of  the  railroad  companies. 
When  I  sallied  out  next  morning  I  found  a  different 
Edmonton  from  that  with  which  I  had  become  ac- 
quainted six  years  before.  Then  it  was  the  "jumping- 
off  place"  for  the  North  and  West,  and  most  clerks  had 
some  personal  knowledge  of  what  any  one  intending  a 
trip  into  the  bush  needed;  now  it  differed  little  from  other 
towns,  and  the  clerks  were  like  all  other  clerks,  and  had 
little  knowledge  of  canoes,  tents,  or  guns — of  anything 
but  prices,  which  were  high. 


6   ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

As  one  beholds  the  miles  and  miles  of  paved  streets 
and  splendid  buildings,  it  seems  incredible  that,  even  in 
my  own  lifetime,  Edmonton  was  merely  a  fur  post  be- 
neath whose  palisaded  walls  wild  Crees  and  Blackfeet 
waylaid  and  scalped  each  other. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  the  trip  by  water  would  be 
more  than  a  thousand  miles  long,  that  some  of  the  streams 
were  shallow,  that  many  rapids  must  be  run  and  frequent 
portages  made,  I  had  already  decided  that  I  must  have  a 
light,  canvas-covered  canoe  about  eighteen  feet  long,  and 
capable  of  carrying  two  men  and  a  considerable  load. 
In  correspondence  earlier  in  the  year  I  had  been  assured 
that  the  supply  of  canoes  in  Edmonton  was  unlimited; 
great,  therefore,  was  my  disgust  when  I  learned  that 
there  was  not  in  the  whole  city  a  canvas-covered  canoe, 
of  the  usual  type,  more  than  sixteen  feet  long.  I  had 
about  decided  to  take  an  ordinary  basswood  Peterbor- 
ough when  I  heard  of  a  company  down  on  the  Saskatche- 
wan that  had,  according  to  the  story,  an  overstock  of 
canvas  canoes.  Much  elated,  I  hurried  down  the  long, 
steep  hill  to  the  river,  to  find  that  the  craft  in  question 
were  really  Chestnut  sponson  canoes,  seventeen  feet  long. 
Now  it  had  never  been  my  intention  to  take  a  sponson 
canoe  on  the  trip,  but  the  man  in  charge  was  insistent 
that  I  should  look  one  of  the  boats  over,  and  I  did  so. 
She  was  a  stanch,  beautiful  little  craft,  weighing  about 
ninety  pounds,  capable  of  carrying  six  or  seven  hun- 
dred pounds  and  two  men,  a  bit  too  low  in  the  sides  for 
rough  water,  but  safe  and  sure  to  float  in  case  she  ever 
should  fill.     She  was  not  just  what  I  wanted;   I  realized 


THE   MIDDLE   PASSAGE  7 

that  with  all  our  stuff  aboard  she  would  ride  pretty  low, 
but  I  knew  a  way  of  keeping  out  the  swells,  and  she 
seemed  to  come  the  nearest  my  requirements  of  any- 
thing available,  so  I  took  her. 

Most  of  my  provisions  and  other  stuff  I  bought  at  the 
Hudson's  Bay  store,  which  in  Edmonton  is  merely  a  big 
department  store  that  does  not  differ  greatly  from  similar 
stores  in  other  cities.  I  picked  up  a  few  articles  else- 
where, and  had  brought  others  from  the  States.  As 
we  were  going  on  a  trip  where  every  ounce  would  count, 
and  where  everything  used  must  be  carried  along,  I 
had  given  the  subject  considerable  care.  The  completed 
outfit,  besides  the  canoe,  included  the  following  articles: 

One  Winchester  .401  automatic  rifle,  equipped  with 
Lyman  sights.  I  had  owned  this  gun  for  six  years,  and 
was  familiar  with  its  advantages  and  weaknesses.  Like 
all  rifles,  it  is  more  suitable  for  some  kinds  of  work  than 
for  others,  but,  on  the  whole,  it  is  a  good  weapon  in  the 
hands  of  one  who  understands  it.  For  small  game  I 
had  brought  with  me  an  old  Remington  .32  rim-fire  rifle 
and  a  hundred  long  cartridges.  I  had  had  this  rifle 
many  years,  and  had  killed  a  great  variety  of  game  with  it. 
To  my  mind  a  weapon  of  this  sort  is  better  for  small  game 
than  a  .22,  as  it  does  not  tear  too  much  of  a  hole,  will 
shoot  farther,  and  can  be  used,  at  a  pinch,  on  large  game. 

One  3A  Graflex  camera.  This  also  was  an  old  com- 
panion, and  with  it  I  had  done  some  fair  work,  not  be- 
cause I  am  a  good  photographer,  but  because  I  had  an 
excellent  machine.  My  mistake  on  this  trip  was  to 
underestimate    its    capacities.     Such    a    camera    is,    of 


8   ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

course,  rather  heavy  for  mountain  work,  its  weight  being 
about  four  and  a  half  pounds.  The  leather  case  that  the 
manufacturers  furnish  for  it  leaves  much  to  be  desired 
as  a  means  of  protection  against  either  shocks  or  water, 
and  at  home  I  had  made  a  box  out  of  some  clear  poplar 
boards,  and  had  covered  it  with  canvas  and  fitted  it  with 
carrying  straps.  This  box  proved  a  great  success,  and 
served  to  lift  a  heavy  load  of  anxiety  off  fny  mind,  for 
the  camera  was  really  the  most  essential  article  of  the 
trip.  The  box  also  furnished  a  handy  receptacle  for 
numerous  other  small  articles.  Most  of  the  films  were 
in  water-tight  tins. 

One  7K  X  7K  forester  tent  of  balloon-silk,  weight 
about  four  and  a  half  pounds.  These  tents  are  open  in 
front,  but  I  took  along  a  spare  piece  of  canvas,  which  was 
useful  as  a  tarpaulin  and  was  available  to  keep  out  rain 
when  the  wind  was  uncertain  and  shifting.  The  tent 
was  a  bit  small,  but  there  was  room  for  two  in  it  and  also 
for  a  couple  of  pack-sacks.  For  protection  against  mos- 
quitoes I  took  along  plenty  of  cheese-cloth.  Ordinary 
mosquito-netting  is  unsatisfactory,  as  the  mesh  is  made 
too  large. 

A  cooking  outfit  that  would  "nest"  and  a  Hudson's 
Bay  axe.  I  left  the  buying  of  a  small  axe  until  I  got  to 
Prince  George,  and  then  had  to  be  content  with  a  hatchet, 
as  there  were  no  good  small  axes  in  stock. 

A  Bristol  fishing-rod,  with  plenty  of  spoons,  flies,  and 
other  tackle.  This  rod  had  seen  much  active  service, 
in  particular  against  the  hardy  bass  and  muskallonge 
of  Georgian  Bay  and  French  River. 


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THE  MIDDLE   PASSAGE  9 

In  the  way  of  bedding  I  took  a  canvas  ground-cloth, 
a  light  blanket,  a  heavy  blanket,  and  plenty  of  big 
blanket  pins  for  use  in  improvising  a  sleeping-bag.  In 
the  way  of  clothing  I  had  an  alleged  water-proof  suit  of 
a  much-advertised  brand.  The  coat  proved  helpful  in 
wet  weather,  though  far  from  being  capable  of  turning 
a  big  rain,  but  the  trousers  were  almost  worthless,  as 
they  rustle  too  much  to  hunt  in,  will  not  keep  out  the 
water  from  wet  bush,  and  wear  in  holes  in  a  few  days  of 
real  work.  However,  I  had  along  another  pair  of  ordi- 
nary khaki  to  hunt  in.  I  also  had  plenty  of  woollen 
underclothing,  two  heavy  woollen  shirts,  and  a  sweater. 
For  footwear  I  had  a  pair  of  ordinary  street  shoes  and  a 
pair  of  excellent  shoepacks.  I  intended  to  lay  in  at  Fort 
Grahame  a  supply  of  moccasins  for  hunting  purposes. 

The  food  supply  was  ample  and  varied.  As  most  of 
the  trip  would  be  by  canoe,  I  took  along  more  heavy 
canned  stuff,  particularly  canned  fruit  and  tomatoes,  than 
I  would  otherwise  have  done.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
scale,  as  regards  weight,  I  had  brought  from  the  States 
a  considerable  quantity  of  dehydrated  stuff  for  use  par- 
ticularly in  the  mountains.  The  most  worthless  thing 
I  took  was  an  immense  can  of  ground  mustard,  which  I 
bought  by  weight,  "sight  unseen,'*  without  realizing  how 
much  I  was  getting.  At  the  end  of  the  trip  the  can  was 
still  intact,  and  I  joyfully  gave  it  to  a  friend.  From  the 
States  I  had  brought  a  number  of  water-proof  bags  and 
several  empty  friction-top  tins  of  varying  sizes,  and  they 
proved  invaluable  for  keeping  the  food  dry  and  in  good 
condition. 


10    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

The  real  starting-point  was  the  little  station  of  Han- 
sard, on  the  upper  Eraser  beyond  the  Rockies,  1,235  miles 
northwest   of  Winnipeg,  442  miles  west  of  Edmonton, 
and    46    miles    east    of    Prince    George    (formerly    Fort 
George).     The  canoe  and  the  rest  of  the  stuff,  except  my 
personal  baggage  and  a  few  other  articles  that  I  took 
with   me,  were   to   follow   on   the    next   Friday's  train. 
As  for  myself,  I  donned  my  hunting-clothes,  left  my  others 
at  the  hotel,  and  boarded  the  Wednesday  night  train  for 
Prince  George,  intending  to  engage  a  man  for  the  trip 
at  that  place  and  return  to  Hansard  on  Saturday  in  time 
to  receive  my  stuff  when  it  was  unloaded.     This  arrange- 
ment was  rendered  necessary  by  reason  of  the  fact  that 
Hansard  was  a  mere  stop  in  an  unsettled  country,  and 
had  no  agent. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE   PORTAL 

When  I  awoke  and  looked  out  of  the  car-window 
next  morning,  I  found  that  we  had  passed  out  of  the 
settled  prairie  and  were  running  through  a  wild  and 
sombre  region  of  fen  and  muskeg,  overgrown  with  co- 
lumnar spruce  and  lodge-pole  pine.  In  places  rushing 
fires  had  swept  over  the  land,  leaving  blasted  trunks 
standing  amid  the  blackened  stumps  and  prostrate  bodies 
of  comrades  half  consumed.  The  sun  had  just  begun 
dimly  to  lighten  the  world,  and  to  the  far  northwestward 
appeared  a  long  row  of  what  at  first  I  was  certain  were 
jagged  mountains,  but  which  ultimately  proved  to  be 
merely  masses  of  low  clouds. 

We  were  passing  through  a  region  that  had  old  asso- 
ciations for  me,  and  I  kept  a  keen  outlook  for  familiar 
scenes.  Six  years  before  I  had  ridden  to  the  town  of 
Wolf  Creek  on  the  first  construction-train  that  had  ever 
run  through  to  Edson,  and  later  I  had  started  from 
Edson  with  a  pack-train  for  a  trip  to  the  Brazeau  coun- 
try and  Mount  Dalhousie.  Then  Wolf  Creek  had  for 
some  months  been  the  end-of-steel,  and  was  a  place  of 
considerable  importance.  In  the  preceding  winter  hun- 
dreds of  town  lots  had  been  sold  to  hopeful  Eastern  in- 
vestors, and  the  place  had  been  a  Mecca  for  mosquitoes, 
mules,  flies,  ox-teams,  navvies,  and  gamblers.     But  Ed- 


12  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

son,  eight  miles  farther  west,  had  become  track*s-end; 
Wolf  Creek's  boom  was  "busted,"  and  Wolf  Creek's 
population  was  moving  on. 

**What  is  the  price  of  real  estate  in  this  burg?"  I 
asked  a  storekeeper  who  was  about  to  join  the  emigra- 
tion. 

"I  gave  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  this  lot," 
he  said  with  a  grin.  "Seeing  it's  you,  you  may  have  it 
for  fifty  dollars." 

"Seeing  it's  I,  I  suppose  one  sawbuck  would  buy  it," 
I  returned. 

And  he  grinned  again. 

When  Wolf  Creek  presently  came  in  sight  I  found 
my  expectations  realized.  The  first  beams  of  the  morn- 
ing sun  shining  through  the  waste  of  spruce  showed  that 
of  all  the  huts,  shacks,  and  Waldorf  Astorias  hardly  one 
log  remained  upon  another;  the  only  building  that  con- 
tinued intact  was  a  tiny  white  church  set  well  back  from 
the  road,  and  half  hidden  by  a  copse  of  young  jack-pine. 
Even  it  had  neither  worshippers  nor  mourners,  for  Wolf 
Creek  was  now  neither  a  habitation  nor  even  a  name. 
The  only  living  thing  visible  was  a  crow  perched  like  an 
image  carved  in  jet  upon  the  blackened  top  of  a  blasted 
pine. 

The  fate  of  Wolf  Creek  is  typical  of  scores  of  other 
little  towns  upon  new  railroads.  If  one  were  to  search 
among  the  ruins  of  such  towns,  he  would  find  the  neglected 
graves  of  those  who  fell  in  aiding  the  march  of  the  iron 
horse  to  the  Pacific.  Many  who  perished  thus  were 
victims  of  the  carelessness  of  others,  for  rarely,  in  this 


THE  PORTAL  13 

age  of  the  world,  has  a  great  undertaking  been  conducted 
with  so  little  attention  to  health  and  sanitation  as  was 
the  building  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  Railway.  Filth 
and  garbage  collected  undisturbed;  flies  made  their 
deadly  rounds,  and  many  of  the  camps  were  simply  rotten 
with  typhoid  and  other  diseases.  Women  who  braved 
the  hardships  suffered  most  of  all.  When  the  hard  times 
came,  following  the  completion  of  the  road,  men  were 
wont  to  say:  "Things  are  dull  indeed.  Why,  we  aren't 
even  burying  any  more  women  !" 

The  region  beyond  Wolf  Creek  also  called  up  mem- 
ories, for  it  was  there  that  on  my  previous  trip  I  had 
first  caught  sight  of  the  Canadian  Rockies.  With  Jimmy 
Paul,  a  Cree  half-breed,  I  was  riding  a  cayuse  from  Wolf 
Creek  to  Edson,  when  from  the  top  of  a  divide  I  beheld 
the  tooth-like  summits  of  a  mighty  range.  Far  off  they 
were,  fifty  miles  at  least  to  the  nearest,  but  very  close 
they  looked,  towering  up  beyond  the  green  sea  of  foot- 
hills. It  was  a  clear  afternoon,  and  one  could  see  peaks 
southward  beyond  Banff  and  far  northward  up  in  the 
Smoky  River  country — four  hundred  miles  of  snow- 
capped mountains  in  a  single  mighty  sweep. 

When  the  train  reached  Edson  I  looked  the  place 
over  with  as  much  interest  as  I  had  Wolf  Creek.  When 
I  had  been  there  before,  Edson  was  to  be  a  great  city. 
A  square  mile  of  muskeg — a  peculiarly  villainous  kind 
of  swamp — had  been  surveyed  into  lots  and  placed  on 
the  Eastern  markets  when  I  passed  through  westward; 
another  square  mile  was  being  surveyed  when  I  re- 
turned.    Lots  were  sold   in  large   numbers   in   Eastern 


14  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

Canada,  the  United  States,  Europe,  and  even  South 
America,  and  the  price  of  some  of  the  choicest  was  sev- 
eral thousand  dollars.  But  the  construction  gangs 
passed  on,  and  with  them  departed  Edson's  prosperity 
and  all  except  a  few  hundred  of  its  population. 

A  few  miles  beyond  Edson  we  crossed  the  long  trestle 

bridge  over  the  McLeod  at  the  "Big  Eddy,"  the  point 

where  six  years  before  our  pack-train  had  turned  off  the 

right  of  way  toward  the  Brazeau  country.     Presently 

we  were  among  the  foot-hills,  and  were  running  along 

but  far  above  the  turbid  Athabasca,  which  even  here  is 

a  considerable  river.     Soon  we  entered  the  confines  of 

Jasper  Park  and  passed  through  the  gateway  guarded 

by  Boule  Roche  Mountain  and  Roche  a  Perdrix,  with  the 

mighty  cliff  of  Roche  Miette  not  far  beyond.     In  places 

the  Athabasca  broadens  into  Alpine  lakes,  Brule  Lake  and 

Jasper  Lake.     Near  Brule  Lake  bubbles  the  Miette  Hot 

Springs,  of  which  much  will  be  heard  in  years  to  come. 

I  watched   the   changing  scene  with   rapt   interest.     It 

seemed  as  if  this  were  my  kingdom,  and  that  after  long 

years  of  absence  I  was  once  more  entering  in ! 

The  day  was  stormy,  and  now  and  then  clouds  drove 
down  upon  the  peaks,  veiling  them  from  view.  Again 
the  clouds  were  swept  aside,  and  I  was  able  to  see  enough 
to  convince  me  that  Jasper  Park  and  Mount  Robson  Park, 
the  latter  just  across  the  provincial  boundary-line  in 
British  Columbia,  will  ultimately  be  among  the  favorite 
playgrounds  of  the  Continent.  These  parks  contain  hot 
springs,  cascades,  swift  rivers,  beautiful  lakes,  tangled 
forests,  great  glaciers,   and   mighty  snow-capped   peaks, 


THE   PORTAL  15 

while  In  their  fastnesses  roam  black  and  grizzly  bears, 
caribou,  moose,  mountain-sheep,  and  mountain-goats,  and 
their  tumbling  streams  abound  with  trout. 

The  station  of  Jasper,  which  in  time  will  doubtless 
be  surrounded  by  many  huge  hotels,  lies  in  an  amphi- 
theatre surrounded  by  tall  peaks,  among  them  Mount 
Geikie,  Pyramid  Mountain,  and  Mount  Edith  Cavell, 
the  last  named  after  the  heroic  English  nurse.  The  site 
of  Henry  House,  a  famous  fur  post  of  the  long  ago,  lies 
not  far  back,  and  the  Athabasca  flows  just  at  hand. 

On  leaving  the  Athabasca,  which  rises  in  a  mighty 
wilderness  of  peaks  to  southward,  we  thundered  west- 
ward up  the  tumbling  Miette  toward  Yellowhead  Pass. 
Years  before,  from  a  high  divide,  I  had  beheld  this  pass, 
which  looked  as  if  some  mighty  Titan  had  hewed  it 
out  of  the  barrier  wall  with  a  giant  axe,  but  never  before 
had  I  been  within  the  portal.  The  ascent  to  the  pass  is 
so  imperceptible  that  one  is  not  conscious,  unless  told, 
that  he  has  actually  reached  the  summit.  In  one  spot 
the  headwaters  of  two  streams  mingle;  one  stream  emp- 
ties into  Athabascan  and  Arctic  waters,  while  the  other 
•ows  into  the  Eraser,  and  thus  its  water  reaches  the 
?acific. 

The  Grand  Trunk  makes  a  great  point  of  the  fact 
L.iat  it  crosses  the  mountains  at  a  low  elevation,  and  that 
the  grade  is  never  excessively  steep.  The  promoters  of 
the  road  expected  to  carry  to  and  from  the  terminal  at 
Prince  Rupert  a  large  share  of  the  products  of  and  sup- 
plies needed  by  the  Prairie  Provinces.  It  was  believed, 
for  example,  that  It  would  be  cheaper  to  carry  wheat 


i6    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

westward  from  Alberta  and  Saskatchewan,  and  thence 
send  it  by  water  through  the  Panama  Canal,  than  to  ship 
it  to  the  Great  Lakes  and  the  Eastern  seaboard.  Inas- 
much as  the  cost  of  carrying  a  bushel  of  wheat  from 
Edmonton  even  to  Lake  Superior  is  more  than  twenty 
cents,  it  is  clear  that  here  was  a  problem  the  solution  of 
which  would  bring  the  solver  big  dividends.  It  was  this 
pressing  transportation  problem  that  caused  the  Cana- 
dian Government  to  extend  so  much  aid  to  the  Grand 
Trunk  Pacific,  and  to  the  Canadian  Northern,  and  also 
to  engage  in  the  construction  of  a  railway  to  Hudson's 
Bay. 

About  the  time  that  the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  was 
ready  to  carry  freight  to  the  west  coast  the  Great  War 
burst  upon  the  world.  The  British  blockade  and  the 
German  submarines  soon  produced  such  a  shortage  of 
merchant  shipping  that  the  scheme  of  cheap  carriage  of 
freight  from  Prince  Rupert  by  way  of  the  Pacific  and 
Panama  fell  through — at  least  for  a  time.  In  conse- 
quence the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  west  of  Edmonton  found 
itself  the  possessor  of  a  magnificent  road-bed,  but  compar- 
atively little  traflfic.  The  road  runs  through  an  immense 
territory  that  as  yet  contains  only  a  few  thousand  in- 
habitants, who  produce  little  and  import  little.  When 
peace  comes,  when  the  shipping  of  the  world  has  once 
more  been  restored  and  rates  have  fallen  to  normal,  the 
original  hope  may  be  realized.  In  course  of  time,  also, 
the  country  along  the  line  will  become  more  thickly  pop- 
ulated, and  this  will  make  business.  There  is  much  good 
fir,  spruce,  and  cedar  timber  in  the  Eraser  valley,  and 


Reproduced  by  courtesy  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  Railway. 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  Mt.  Edith  Cavell. 


THE  PORTAL  17 

this  will  be  in  demand  on  the  prairies.  This  business 
alone  will  make  a  vast  amount  of  freight.  The  region  the 
road  opens  up  is  an  empire  in  itself,  with  limitless  nat- 
ural resources. 

I  am  confident  that  even  the  most  blase  traveller 
could  not  avoid  becoming  enthusiastic  over  the  views 
within  and  beyond  the  pass.  Here  alone  was  sufficient 
magnificent  scenery  for  half  a  dozen  trips,  but  to  me  it 
could  only  be  a  sort  of  prelude  on  which  I  could  bestow 
a  few  hasty  glances.  Great  snow-capped  peaks  tower 
up  on  every  hand,  while  beside  and  beneath  the  road 
the  Fraser  River,  quickly  become  a  considerable  stream, 
goes  tumbling  down  a  rocky  chute  so  steep  that  one  is 
inevitably  reminded  of  a  flight  of  stairs. 

The  immensity  of  the  mighty  mountain  mass  called 
British  Columbia  is  not  generally  understood.  Within 
it  twenty  Switzerlands  could  be  set  down,  and  there 
would  still  be  room  for  England,  Scotland,  and  one  or 
two  other  European  countries. 

The  supreme  spectacle  is,  of  course.  Mount  Robson. 
This  mighty  rock  mass,  13,068  feet  high  and  said  to  be 
the  tallest  in  the  Canadian  Rockies,  towers  up  not  far 
from  the  railway,  and  passenger-trains  stop  at  a  favor- 
able point  in  order  to  enable  passengers  to  obtain  a  view 
of  the  monster.  When  we  stopped,  the  mountain,  for 
the  most  part,  was  veiled  by  misty  clouds,  but  here  and 
there  one  could  catch  glimpses  of  portions  of  the  mas- 
sive, serrated  peak.  Just  after  the  train  moved  on- 
ward the  clouds  parted  for  a  moment  and  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  what  was  evidently  almost 


l8  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

the  very  top.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  the  spectacle  was 
more  impressive  so,  for  the  clouds  gave  an  air  of  mys- 
tery, of  untold  possibilities. 

To  westward  for  two  hundred  miles  the  Eraser  River, 
through  whose  valley  the  railway  runs,  flows  between 
two  mighty  mountain  walls,  and  there  are  scores  and 
scores  of  peaks  that  go  far  above  timber-line  and  even 
above  the  snow-line.  The  celebrated  English  novelist, 
Sir  Rider  Haggard,  had  passed  through  the  country  only 
a  few  weeks  before,  and  one  of  these  peaks  had  been 
named  in  his  honor.  As  one  travels  farther  west  the 
peaks  gradually  become  lower  and,  of  course,  are  less 
impressive. 

I  enjoyed  the  scenery  along  the  route,  though  I  must 
admit  that  I  did  not  experience  the  fierce  pleasure  that  I 
did  later.  There  is  as  much  difference  between  viewing 
mountains  from  a  car-window  or  the  top  of  a  coach  and 
travelling  among  them  on  foot  or  with  a  pack-train  as 
there  is  between  seeing  a  beautiful  woman  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street  and  being  married  to  her. 

The  Eraser  becomes  navigable  for  canoes  a  little 
above  Tete  Jaune  Cache,  but  between  this  place  and 
Prince  George  there  are  numerous  rapids  and  canyons, 
in  particular  the  Grand  Canyon.  During  construction 
days  an  immense  amount  of  freight  was  sent  down  the 
river  in  scows,  fourteen  hundred  of  these  unwieldy  craft 
being  built  for  that  purpose.  Many  were  the  disastrous 
wrecks.  The  river  is  lined  with  the  battered  timbers  of 
scows  that  came  to  grief.  The  number  of  men  who  lost 
their  lives  on  the  river  in  this  period  will  never  be  known, 


THE   PORTAL  19 

but  it  was  large,  and  many  were  the  hairbreadth  escapes. 
Old  timers  tell  with  particular  gusto  of  a  scow  loaded 
with  filles  de  joie  that  hung  up  for  hours  on  a  dangerous 
point;  the  leader  of  the  party  henceforth  was  known  in 
that  country  as  "the  Sandbar  Queen."  Those  were 
days  of  easy  money  and  free  spending,  which  are  fondly 
recalled  by  the  now  purse-straitened  denizens  of  the 
country. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  after  many  hours  of  running 
down  the  Fraser  valley  between  aisles  of  cedar,  spruce, 
and  fir,  we  reached  Prince  George.  This  town  stands 
at  the  junction  of  the  Fraser  and  the  Nechaco,  at  a 
point  where  the  valley  of  the  Fraser,  emerging  from  the 
mountains,  broadens  out  into  a  plain,  while  the  Fraser 
itself  turns  to  the  south.  Alongside  stand  Fort  George 
and  South  Fort  George.  Fort  George  was  an  old 
Hudson's  Bay  trading-post,  established  originally  by 
Simon  Fraser  in  1807.  Near  by  was  the  village  of 
the  Indians,  but  the  Indian  claim  to  the  land  there- 
abouts was  bought  by  the  government,  and  the  Indians 
were  transferred  to  a  location  farther  east.  South  Fort 
George  and  Prince  George  were  born  of  the  exigencies  of 
real-estate  speculation.  While  construction  lasted  all 
three  enjoyed  great  prosperity.  It  required  twelve  bar- 
tenders working  in  shifts  to  supply  the  thirsty  navvies 
who  swarmed  into  "Johnson's  Hotel"  in  South  Fort 
George,  and  the  receipts  over  the  bar  on  a  single  day 
were  as  high,  it  is  said,  as  seven  thousand  dollars.  But 
the  railway  was  finished,  and  the  workers  scattered  to 
the  four  winds.     Now  everything,  to  use  the  euphemisti- 


20  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

cal  term  employed  by  those  who  remained,  was  "quiet," 
which  meant  that  business  was  dead  and  work  scarce. 
However,  the  place  has  a  big  future. 

My  most  immediate  task  on  reaching  Prince  George 
was  to  engage  a  man  to  help  me  on  the  trip  to  the  North. 
The  first  requisite  in  such  a  man  was,  of  course,  that  he 
should  "know  water,"  that  is,  should  be  a  good  canoe- 
man.  I  hoped  to  find  one  who  was  also  familiar  with 
at  least  a  part  of  the  route  that  must  be  travelled, 
though  this  was  not  absolutely  essential.  Prince  George 
has  become  one  of  the  main  outfitting  points  for  the 
trappers  and  prospectors  w^ho  operate  on  Peace  River 
headwaters,  and  I  found  that  there  were  several  of  these 
in  town  whose  services  could  be  obtained.  News  that  a 
stranger  from  the  outside  was  wanting  such  a  man 
spread  rapidly  through  the  little  burg,  and  within  a  few 
hours  I  had  met  a  number  of  good  fellows  who  woulj 
have  been  glad  to  go  with  me  and  whom  I  should  have 
been  glad  to  take  along.  But  my  plans  contemplated 
taking  only  one  other  person,  at  least  as  far  as  Finlay 
Forks,  and  he  was  soon  engaged. 

His  name  was  Joe  Lavoie,  and  he  was  a  native  of 
Quebec,  though  most  of  his  boyhood  had  been  spent  in 
Fall  River,  Massachusetts.  About  the  time  he  attained 
manhood  he  had  joined  an  older  brother  in  the  lumber- 
camps  of  Washington;  subsequently  the  two  had  drifted 
over  the  international  boundary-line  into  British  Colum- 
bia. For  about  fifteen  years  Joe  had  engaged  in  pros- 
pecting, trapping,  and  other  border  pursuits.  Prior  to 
the  building  of  the  railroad  he  had  been  provincial  fire- 


THE  PORTAL  21 

warden  of  the  region  between  Quesnel  and  Tete  Jaune 
Cache,  and  had  made  his  long  rounds  alone  in  a  canoe 
on  the  wild  waters  of  the  upper  Fraser.  Those  who 
knew  him  declared  that  no  better  canoeman  could  be 
found.  He  had  spent  the  previous  winter  trapping  in 
the  country  across  Peace  River  from  Mount  Selwyn, 
and  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  as  far  up  Finlay  River 
as  Fort  Grahame.  I  presume  that  he  did  not  mean  the 
last  statement  literally,  as  it  subsequently  developed 
that  he  had  only  been  about  half-way  thither.  As  he 
owned  a  pre-emption  and  a  graphophone  at  Finlay  Forks 
and  possessed  a  roving  disposition,  he  was  quite  willing 
to  return  to  that  region,  and  we  quickly  came  to  terms. 

Next  morning,  for  the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars,  I 
secured  a  hunting  license  from  the  local  provincial  au- 
thorities, and,  having  performed  the  two  tasks  that  had 
brought  me  to  Prince  George,  I  would  have  been  ready 
early  the  next  day,  Friday,  to  return  to  Hansard,  the 
real  starting-point  of  the  "expedition,"  but  there  was 
no  train  till  Saturday  morning,  so  we  had  perforce  to 
wait  till  then. 

However,  the  hotel  at  which  I  was  staying  was  a 
fairly  comfortable  one  and  there  were  many  interesting 
characters  to  talk  to.  Among  those  I  met  first  was  a 
certain  Witt,  who  the  preceding  winter  had  trapped  far 
up  the  Finlay  and  who  now,  bringing  his  Siwash  dog, 
had  come  out  to  sell  his  fur  and  buy  his  outfit  for  the 
next  winter.  Witt  was  a  native  of  Germany,  and  he 
told  me  that  for  years  he  had  lived  in  the  dirt  and  squalor 
of  New  York's  lower  East  Side.     It  certainly  is  a  far 


22    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

cry  from  the  sights,  sounds,  and  smells  of  that  congested 
district  to  the  silent  mountains,  lonely  valleys,  and 
boundless  forests  of  British  Columbia.  From  him  I 
obtained  considerable  information  concerning  the  Fin- 
lay  country  and  could  have  got  more,  but  Lavoie  assured 
me  that  Witt  had  really  never  been  in  the  country  to 
which  we  were  going,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  trusted. 
Subsequently  I  found  that  what  Witt  had  told  me  was 
undoubtedly  based  on  first-hand  knowledge.  I  also 
learned  that  he  and  Lavoie  had  had  trouble. 

While  I  was  in  Hood's  store  making  a  few  last  addi- 
tions to  our  outfit,  I  happened  to  hear  a  man  say  that 
one  of  the  Norboe  brothers  was  in  town.  The  name 
stirred  old  memories,  and  I  inquired: 

"Is  one  of  the  Norboe  brothers  named  Mack?" 

No  one  could  answer,  but  a  bit  later  I  was  passing  a 
feed  store  when  I  saw  inside  a  slender  man  of  perhaps 
sixty  whose  face — or  rather  picture — I  was  sure  I  had 
seen  before.     I  stepped  within  and  said  to  him: 

"Does  your  name  happen  to  be  Norboe  .?" 

He  turned  to  me  in  mild  surprise  and  said:  "Yes, 
It  is. 

"Did  you  ever  go  out  with  a  man  named  Hornaday 
and  a  man  named  Phillips  and  help  photograph  some 
mountain-goats  V* 

"I  surely  did,"  he  answered,  his  eyes  lighting  up. 

In  a  word,  I  had  happened  upon  Mack  Norboe,  who 
some  years  before  had  helped  John  Phillips  to  secure  by 
all  odds  the  most  remarkable  mountain-goat  pictures 
ever  taken.     These   pictures   were   afterward    published 


THE   PORTAL  23 

in  Hornaday's  Camp-Fires  in  the  Canadian  Rockies,  a 
book  that  I  have  enjoyed  as  much  as  any  hunting-book 
ever  printed. 

He  told  me  that  he  and  his  brother  had  left  the  Elk 
River  country  in  Kootenay,  where  they  guided  Phillips 
and  Hornaday,  and  were  now  located  at  Penny  in  the 
Eraser  country,  a  hundred  miles  or  so  east  of  Prince 
George.  They  are  still  guiding  hunters  who  have  "lost 
bears,"  and  Mr.  Mack  Norboe  told  me  that  they  had 
found  a  splendid  country,  high  and  open,  with  little 
lakes,  a  country  into  which  horses  can  go  and  where 
there  are  plenty  of  moose  and  bears.  He  also  told  me 
that  Charlie  Smith,  whom  every  reader  of  Hornaday's 
book  will  remember,  now  has  rheumatism  so  badly  that 
he  has  been  compelled  to  give  up  life  in  the  open,  and 
that,  through  the  influence  of  Phillips,  he  is  engaged  in 
boy-scout  work  in  Pittsburgh.  ''Grizzly  Smith"  he  is 
called  by  the  boys,  and  great  is  the  success  of  his  stories 
of  adventure  told  round  the  camp-fires  of  the  scouts. 

The  Norboes  are  types  of  the  kind  of  guides  who  see 
to  it  that  their  patrons  have  such  a  good  time  that  the 
patrons  ever  afterward  consider  them  as  lifelong  friends, 
and  sometimes — it  has  happened  to  Mack  two  or  three 
times — pay  their  expenses  East  so  that  they  can  show 
the  guides  a  good  time  in  the  haunts  of  men.  Beginning 
life  in  Texas,  the  Norboes  gradually  moved  northward, 
working  as  cattlemen  in  the  buffalo  days  and  later  as 
trappers,  prospectors,  and  guides,  until  at  last  they  find 
themselves  on  the  upper  Eraser. 

Another  exceedingly  pleasant  acquaintance   I   made 


24  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

at  the  hotel  was  a  gentleman  named  George  McFarlane 
Anderson,  a  native  of  Scotland,  a  resident  of  Victoria, 
and  now  engaged  in  overseeing  the  construction  of  a 
bridge  over  the  Eraser  or  Nechaco,  I  forget  which.  Mr. 
Anderson  had  long  been  stationed  in  India,  and  he 
showed  me  the  most  interesting  collection  of  pictures  of 
that  country  I  have  ever  seen.  He  enjoys  the  distinction 
of  having  been  the  first  man  to  introduce  khaki  from 
India  into  England,  and  he  also  has  a  novel  theory  to 
the  effect  that  the  Ophir  of  King  Solomon  was  located 
in  Malabar. 

My  man  Lavoie,  who  had  registered  at  the  hotel, 
spent  the  last  evening  with  some  friends,  celebrating  his 
coming  departure  in  their  own  way,  and  so  successfully 
that  I  fear  that  if  we  had  been  starting  that  night  we 
would  have  come  to  grief  in  the  first  rapid. 

Next  morning,  having  bidden  my  new  friends  good- 
by,  I  took  the  east-bound  train,  along  with  Lavoie,  and 
we  soon  covered  the  forty  miles  or  so  back  to  Hansard. 
I  had  been  led  to  suppose  that  the  station  at  Hansard 
stood  on  a  small  creek  that  empties  almost  immediately 
into  the  Eraser,  but  I  found  that  the  creek  is  really 
about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  station.  The 
station  itself  is  a  small  wooden  building,  and  there  was 
no  agent,  but  a  Roumanian  section-boss  and  two  of  his 
men  and  the  wife  of  one  of  them  lived  in  a  part  of  the 
building.  The  room  intended  for  the  use  of  passengers 
was  literally  crammed  full  of  mosquitoes,  and,  leaving 
our  baggage  there,  we  were  glad  to  hurry  out  into  the 
open  air. 


THE  PORTAL  25 

As  there  was  a  wait  of  about  eight  hours  before  the 
west-bound  train  was  due  with  our  canoe  and  other  out- 
fit, we  took  my  small  rifle  and  walked  eastward  up  the 
track  a  mile  or  so  and  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  Eraser. 
The  country  a  hundred  feet  from  the  track  was  a  perfect 
wilderness,  and  there  were  impudent  whiskey-jacks  flit- 
ting   about    and    uttering    their    harsh    squawk,    which 
sounds  more   like   ''Wah  k-e-e-e  T  than  anything  else  I 
can  put  down  on  paper.     Having  a  grudge  against  these 
thieving  birds  of  old,  I  shot  one  of  them  for  luck,  and 
we  also  did  some  target  practice  at  objects  in  the  river. 
I  was  rather  surprised  to  see  a  humming-bird,  as  I  had 
never  read  of  their  going  so  far  north.     One  naturally 
associates  humming-birds  with  orchids  and  other  tropical 
things;  they  seem  exotic  even  in  the  Ohio  valley,  while 
in  the  Far  North  they  are  altogether  out  of  place.     And 
yet  we  were  to  see  them  far  up  the  Finlay. 

Mosquitoes  were  very  bad,  but  I  discovered  that  by 
letting  down  the  back  of  my  "cape  cap" — intended  to 
keep  off  rain — I  could  prevent  them  from  cultivating  a 
close  acquaintance  with  my  neck.  Ripe  red  raspberries 
were  numerous  in  patches  along  the  track,  and  they 
served  to  eke  out  the  simple  lunch  of  bread  and  canned 
beef  that  we  had  brought  along  from  Prince  George. 
We  expected  to  cook  a  royal  supper  out  of  the  provisions 
coming  from  Edmonton. 

After  being  cooped  up  so  long  on  trains  it  was  a  great 
relief  to  me  to  be  in  the  woods,  and  even  Joe  seemed  to 
enjoy  himself.  I  found  him  very  lively  and  full  of  anec- 
dotes, while  now  and  then  his  bubbling  spirits  would 


26  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

burst  over  in  snatches  of  song  about  "Molly  Maclntyre" 
or  about  a  certain  swain  who 

"loved  Miss  Mollys  Malone 
And  longed  for  the  time  he  could  make  her  his  own." 

In  the  afternoon  we  carried  our  dunnage  bags  and 
other  stuff  down  the  track  to  the  bank  of  the  little  creek. 
On  leaving  Edmonton  I  had  been  careful  to  bring  along 
the  silk  tent  and  some  cheese-cloth,  besides  most  of  my 
bedding,  and,  of  course,  Joe  had  his  blankets.  We 
pitched  the  tent,  rigged  up  a  cheese-cloth  front  to  foil  the 
mosquitoes,  and  otherwise  made  what  preparations  we 
could  for  the  night.  We  expected  to  bring  the  rest  of 
our  stuff  to  the  camp  that  night,  and  to  set  out  down 
the  Eraser  early  next  morning  for  Giscome  Portage. 

Great,  therefore,  was  our  disappointment  when  the 
train  pulled  into  the  station  to  discover  that  only  the 
canoe  had  come.  Some  Dummkopf  in  the  express  office 
at  Edmonton  had  held  up  the  rest  of  the  outfit  on  the 
ground  that  there  was  no  express  agent  at  Hansard, 
and  no  one  to  receive  the  express  and  see  that  it  was 
duly  paid  for.  Advance  payment  had  been  impossible 
because  when  I  left  Edmonton  the  stuff  had  not  yet 
reached  the  express  office.  I  had  foreseen  some  such 
complication  and  had  not  only  explained  the  case  to  the 
expressmen  but  had  got  three  men  to  promise  faithfully 
that  they  would  see  to  it  that  there  were  no  tangles  ! 
We  were  in  for  a  wait  of  two  days  at  least.  This  was 
bound  to  be  disagreeable,  but  the  really  serious  side  of 
the  matter  lay  in  the  fact  that  we  had  a  long  and  hard 


THE   PORTAL  27 

journey  before  us,  with  a  short  season  in  which  to  do  it, 
and  the  loss  of  even  two  days  might  prove  a  serious 
matter. 

The  only  gleam  of  sunshine  in  the  situation  was  that 
the  canoe  had  come,  and  the  conductor  of  the  train  was 
kind  enough  to  carry  her  to  the  creek  and  put  her  off 
there.  We  launched  her  that  very  evening  and  took  a 
short  spin  on  the  river.  She  paddled  beautifully,  while 
the  sponsons  made  her  exceptionally  steady. 

Luckily  I  had  brought  along  some  compressed  tea  in 
my  dunnage  bag  and  also  some  empty  friction-top  tins. 
We  brewed  tea  in  one  of  the  tins  and  managed  to  make 
a  passable  supper  with  it  and  part  of  the  bread  and 
meat.  As  we  had  brought  only  two  loaves  of  bread  and 
a  small  can  of  meat,  it  looked  as  if  we  were  thrown  on 
our  own  resources  very  early  in  the  game,  for  there  were 
no  stores  or  settlements  for  many  miles. 

''Maybe  we  can  buy  a  little  grub  of  the  section-boss," 
said  Joe  as  we  were  eating. 

"We'll  see  first  if  we  can't  live  off  the  country,"  I  re- 
sponded. "There  are  plenty  of  berries,  and  perhaps  we 
can  kill  some  game  along  the  river." 

"I  think  we  can  get  a  beaver,  sure,"  Joe  declared. 
"They  are  good  meat,  fat  and  greasy.  I  like  them,  and 
have  eaten  many." 

I  had  made  the  express  agent  on  the  train  promise 
to  telegraph  to  Edmonton  to  forward  the  stuff  by  the 
next  west-bound  train,  so  there  remained  nothing  that 
could  be  done  except  to  wait  and  hope  that  the  snarl 
would  be  untangled. 


28  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

That  night  black  clouds  piled  up  in  vast,  black  masses 
in  the  west;  lightning  flashed  and  thunder  roared;  every 
moment  we  expected  the  heavens  to  open  and  whirling 
sheets  of  rain  to  fall,  but  only  a  few  scattered  drops  pat- 
tered down  on  the  tent  roof.  Gradually  the  uproar  of 
the  elements  died  away,  and  we  heard  no  sound  save 
the  soughing  of  the  wind  through  the  sombre  woods  and 
the  monotonous  hum  of  myriads  of  mosquitoes. 

Next  morning,  after  a  meagre  breakfast,  we  took  the 
canoe  and  set  off^  up  the  river.  The  Eraser,  even  this 
far  up,  is  a  big  stream,  two  or  three  hundred  yards  wide, 
and  so  deep  as  to  be  utterly  unfordable.  It  flows  briskly 
between  unbroken  walls  of  tall  spruce  and  fir,  mingled 
with  a  few  cottonwoods,  and  the  banks  are  in  most  places 
overhung  with  a  thick  growth  of  alders  and  red  and  yel- 
low willows.  So  thickly  do  these  bushes  grow  that  in 
many  places  it  is  almost  impossible  to  make  a  landing, 
and  the  woods  upon  the  banks  are  for  the  most  part  so 
densely  covered  with  undergrowth,  including  the  prickly 
devil's  club  {Fatsia  horrida),  that  travel  through  them  is 
exceedingly  diflicult.  Ordinary  hunting  in  such  a  region 
is  manifestly  impossible;  practically  all  the  game  killed 
is  either  shot  from  a  canoe  or  by  watching  some  lake  or 
slough.  The  water  is  full  of  silt,  and  fishing  with  a 
rod  is  useless,  though  it  is  said  that  good  catches  can  be 
made  with  set  lines.  Salmon  ascend  the  river  in  small 
numbers  this  far;  in  fact,  a  "run"  was  then  on,  though 
we  were  able  to  see  few  signs  of  it. 

Repeatedly  we  saw  fresh  beaver  cuttings  and  the 
tracks  of  the  animals  in  the  soft  mud  of  the  banks. 


THE  PORTAL  29 

Twice  also  we  saw  where  a  big  moose  had  ploughed 
through  the  willows  and  alders  and  down  the  bank  and 
then  had  plunged  into  the  river.  There  was  a  chance 
that  we  might  see  one  of  the  beasts  himself,  and,  though 
I  would  not,  even  in  our  existing  lack  of  food,  have  shot 
a  moose  at  that  time,  I  would  have  welcomed  a  bear 
most  joyously. 

We  had  passed  well  beyond  the  bridge  and  were  pad- 
dling along  near  the  edge  of  one  of  the  infrequent  sand- 
bars when  I  noticed  an  animal  moving  in  a  fringe  of 
young  willows.     I  called  Joe's  attention  to  it. 

"It's  a  little  bear,"  he  whispered  confidently. 

But  even  as  he  spoke  I  recognized  the  slow,  draggling 
gait  and  knew  it  was  a  porcupine.  Joe  quickly  realized 
his  mistake,  but  he  was  strongly  in  favor  of  my  shooting 
the  animal. 

"I  have  eaten  them  often,"  he  declared.  "They  are 
good  meat." 

Now,  on  another  trip  in  the  Canadian  Rockies  one  of 
my  packers  had  killed  a  porcupine,  and  I  had  watched 
the  rest  of  the  party  devour  the  animal  with  seeming 
relish,  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  taste  the  greasy 
mess.  However,  I  thought  that  at  least  Joe  would  find 
the  animal  savory,  so  I  hastily  sprang  ashore,  ran  up 
the  bar,  and  headed  the  porcupine  off  just  as  he  was 
about  to  disappear  in  the  thick  forest.  A  bullet  from 
my  .32  soon  ended  his  career. 

"Assassination  number  one!"  laughed  Joe,  gingerly 
holding  up  the  animal  by  one  leg. 

It  was  not  a  feat  in  which  to  take  pride,  but  anyway 


30  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

the  beast  was  fat,  so  we  carried  him  out  to  the  edge  of 
the  bar,  and  Joe  proceeded  to  divest  him  of  his  skin,  a 
rather  tickhsh  task  on  account  of  the  sharp  quills,  and 
also  one  that  was  rendered  doubly  disagreeable  by  clouds 
of  inquisitive  mosquitoes. 

When  the  job  was  completed  we  put  the  carcass  in 
the  canoe  and  continued  up  the  river.  We  must  have 
gone  up  six  or  eight  miles,  but,  though  we  paddled  into 
several  likely  looking  sloughs  and  passed  among  some 
islands  that  bore  plenty  of  moose  and  bear  tracks,  we 
saw  no  other  animals  of  any  size,  and  our  only  further 
spoil  consisted  of  some  fine  red  raspberries  that  we 
found  around  an  old  construction-camp  and  proceeded  to 
"can"  on  the  spot. 

On  the  way  back  we  came  upon  a  red  squirrel  swim- 
ming the  river.  He  was  already  nine-tenths  of  the  way 
across  the  flood,  and,  of  course,  my  camera  was  not  ready 
for  service.  We  ran  the  canoe  between  him  and  the 
shore  and  even  tried  to  turn  him  back  with  our  paddles. 
The  little  fellow's  eyes  popped  out  like  beads  and  he  was 
evidently  thoroughly  frightened,  but  he  seemed  more 
afraid  of  swimming  back  than  of  us.  He  climbed  right 
over  our  paddles  and  kept  on  with  such  persistence  that 
he  reached  the  bank  before  the  camera  was  ready.  I 
considered  the  episode  much  the  most  interesting  hap- 
pening of  the  day. 

We  had  already  seen  two  frogs  swimming  the  river. 
The  voyage  across  was  nearly  three  hundred  yards,  and 
the  water  was  infested  by  fish  that  undoubtedly  would 
have  been  pleased  to  gulp  down  either  frogs  or  squirrel. 


THE   PORTAL  31 

One  cannot  but  wonder  what  leads  such  creatures  to 
launch  out  on  such  perilous  journeys.  Is  it  desire  for  a 
change  of  food  ?  For  new  society  ?  Or  is  it  mere  love 
of  adventure  and  to  see  new  country — the  same  sort  of 
desire  that  was  impelling  me  to  my  own  long  journey  ? 
Anyway,  I  felt  a  sort  of  fellow-feeling  with  the  little 
creatures,  foolish  as  I  thought  them ! 

We  reached  camp  not  long  after  noon,  and  Joe  set 
out  to  prove  the  truth  of  his  declaration  that  porcupine 
is  good  meat.  We  did  not  have  any  vessel  in  which  the 
animal  could  be  parboiled,  but  I  had  brought  along  my 
aluminum  reflector  baker,  and  Joe  thought  that  he  could 
roast  "porky"  very  nicely  in  this.  He  was  not  mistaken 
either,  and  in  due  time  the  meal — tea,  a  little  bread,  and 
unlimited  roast  porcupine — was  ready.  I  found  that  I 
was  not  very  hungry,  but  I  took  a  thigh  and  managed 
to  get  down  several  bites,  though  without  notable  en- 
thusiasm. Joe  ate  one  piece  and  part  of  another,  but 
even  he  did  not  seem  to.  be  taking  very  great  enjoyment 
I  the  feast. 

"How  do  you  like  it  V  I  asked,  striving  to  keep  my 
.-ice  straight. 

He  hurled  the  piece  he  had  been  nibbling  far  from 
him.     "It  tastes  like  kerosene,"  he  admitted,  grinning. 

He  went  on  to  say  that  he  thought  there  might  have 
been  something  in  the  pan  of  the  baker  that  had  im- 
parted the  flavor,  but  I  think  he  was  mistaken.  Porcu- 
pines eat  a  good  deal  of  spruce  bark  and  similar  truck, 
and  I  suspect  that  this  sort  of  diet  had  something  to 
do  with  this  animal's  peculiar  flavor. 


32  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

We  gave  up  our  effort  to  live  off  the  country  and  in- 
gloriously  bought  some  bologna  and  bread  of  the  section- 
boss.  We  left  what  remained  of  the  porcupine  reposing 
in  the  baker,  and  that  night  some  animal  sneaked  into 
camp  and  carried  off  most  of  it.  Next  day  the  thief 
tried  to  repeat  the  offense,  and  Joe  saw  him.  The  thief 
was  a  small,  bushy-tailed  animal,  with  a  white  stripe 
running  along  his  back,  and  he  had  a  hole  under  the 
railway  bridge  a  few  yards  from  our  tent.  Joe  rashly 
landed  a  stone  in  Mephitica's  ribs,  with  the  result  that 
passage  over  the  bridge  became  highly  unpleasant  there- 
after.    Luckily,  our  tent  was  to  windward. 

On  a  trip  down  the  river  that  day  we  saw  plenty  of 
game  signs,  including  fresh  bear  tracks  within  two  hun- 
dred yards  of  camp,  and  we  found  plenty  of  raspberries, 
but  had  no  adventures.  These  excursions  helped,  how- 
ever, to  pass  the  time  and  also  served  to  put  my  muscles 
in  training  for  the  long  pull  ahead. 

When  train  time  drew  near  we  walked  down  the 
track  to  the  station.  Personally  I  was  hopeful  yet  also 
pessimistic  as  to  our  stuff's  coming,  for  it  seemed  that 
expressmen  who  were  "dumb"  enough  not  to  have  for- 
warded it  before,  were  hopeless. 

A  pre-emptioner  who  had  a  farm  some  miles  down 
the  river  had  brought  two  crates  of  strawberries  to  be 
taken  by  the  train  to  Prince  George,  and  we  bought  a 
couple  of  boxes  for  two  bits.  With  him  was  one  of  his 
sons,  a  young  fellow  of  perhaps  twenty.  The  family 
were  originally  from  East  Tennessee — a  far  cry — and 
had  been  in  the  Eraser  country  for  two  or  three  years. 


THE   PORIAL  33 

It  was  easy,  the  old  man  averred,  to  raise  good  crops 
once  you  had  the  land  "chopped  out,"  but  he  complained 
bitterly  of  lack  of  markets.  The  year  before  he  had 
raised  about  thirty  tons  more  potatoes  than  he  could 
use,  but  had  been  forced  to  let  them  rot,  as  the  freight 
rates  to  the  world  outside  were  prohibitive. 

In  the  winter  the  father  and  his  sons  did  a  little  trap- 
ping and  were  able  to  kill  enough  wild  meat  for  their  use. 
Both  man  and  boy  had  shot  moose,  but  the  boy  con- 
fessed: "Bears  are  too  fast  for  me."  The  day  before 
they  had  taken  a  long  shot  at  a  moose  wallowing  in  the 
mouth  of  the  North  Fork,  which  joins  the  main  Fraser 
below  and  across  from  their  pre-emption. 

The  train  from  the  East  proved  to  be  late,  of  course, 
but  when  it  did  arrive  I  was  happy  to  discover  that  my 
forebodings  were  like  those  of  the  man  who  said  that 
he  had  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  his  life  and  most  of 
it  never  happened.  Not  only  was  every  article  of  our 
outfit  aboard,  but  I  was  also  able  to  buy  an  Edmonton 
paper  containing  the  latest  war  news,  and— better  stdl— 
there  were  two  good  letters  from  home. 

The  conductor  of  this  train  also  proved  obliging. 
He  warned  us  not  to  tell  what  he  did  for  us,  so  I  shall 
simply  say  that  we  did  not  have  to  carry  our  stuff  to  the 

creek ! 

We  dug  into  the  provisions  with  eagerness,  you  may 
be  sure,  and  soon  cooked  a  large  and  generous  "feed." 
After  supper  we  got  everything  in  readiness  for  an  early 
start  next  morning  for  Giscome  Portage,  thirty-five  miles 
down  the  river.     Then,  content  with  the  world,  we  sat 


34  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

round  the  camp-tire  until  drowsiness  and  the  mosquitoes 
drove  us  inside  our  tent. 

In  the  vernacular  of  the  Northwest  everything  was 
"jake,"  which  being  translated  into  the  President's 
English  means  *'0.  K." 


CHAPTER   III 

FROM  PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS 

Travelling  in  a  canoe  has  a  number  of  advantages 
over  travelling  with   a   pack-train.     For   example,   one 
does  not  have  to  catch  his  means  of  transport  every 
morning — perhaps   three   miles   from   camp — nor  worry 
about  feed.     It  is  far  easier  to  load  an  outfit  into  a  canoe 
than  it  is  to  rope  it  on  the  backs  of  half  a  dozen  cayuses; 
nor  is  it  usually  necessary  entirely  to  unload  the  canoe 
at  night — and  often  at  noon — as  is  the  case  with  pack- 
horses.     Consequently  the  problem  of  getting  an  early 
start  is  much  less  difficult  with  a  canoe  than  with  horses. 
Even  when  we  broke  camp  at  Hansard,  though  we 
were  loading  the  canoe  for  the  first  time,  we  managed  to 
do  it  pretty  expeditiously.     When  we  had  done  so  we 
found  that  our  expectation  that  we  had  a  big  load  for 
such  a  craft  was  fully  realized.     The  load  was  all  the 
bigger  because  Joe  was  taking  a  sixty  or  seventy  pound 
case  of  Wagstaff's  jam  to  his  friend  Peterson  at  Finlay 
Forks,  while  his  own  personal  baggage  and  bedding  were 
double  in  weight  what  I  had  ever  before  seen  a  guide 
carry.     In  fact,  when  we  had  everything  stowed,  includ- 
ing ourselves,  we  had  no  more  than  three  inches  of  free- 
board, and  to  an  observer  a  little  distance  away  it  would 
have  seemed  that  we  were  running  awash.     In  fact,  the 
canoe  rode  so  low  that  Joe  declared : 

"She  looks  like  a  U-boat  about  to  dive.** 

35 


36  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

"We'll  call  her  The  Subviariney''  said  1. 

However,  the  sponsons  made  her  as  steady  as  a 
church,  and  I  knew  that  even  if  she  should  fill  she  could 
not  sink,  while  we  had  a  plan  for  keeping  out  rough 
water  when  the  need  should  come. 

"All  ready!"  said  Joe  a  little  after  seven  o'clock. 

For  the  fourth  time  we  looked  round  our  deserted 
camp  site  to  make  sure  that  we  were  leaving  nothing 
except  the  mosquitoes,  and  then  Joe  stepped  aboard. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  a  moment  that  ought  to  be 
chronicled  in  enduring  form,  so  I  fired  two  shots  at  the 
outfit  with  my  Graflex.  Then  I  took  my  place  in  the 
bow  and  our  thousand-mile  canoe  trip  began. 

There  is  an  exhilaration  about  a  start  on  a  trip  of 
this  kind,  and  we  felt  it  to  the  full.  Though  dire  prophe- 
cies had  been  uttered  of  disasters  that  would  befall  us, 
we  felt  confident  of  our  ability  to  pull  ourselves  through 
every  situation.  Long  vistas  of  magnificent  possibilities 
lay  before  us:  delectable  mountains,  hungry  fish,  obliging 
bears,  toothsome  caribou,  festive  goats  ! 

To  work  our  way  down  the  little  creek  and  out  on 
the  river  required  no  more  than  twenty  strokes  of  our 
paddles.  Joe  then  steered  our  craft  out  into  the  cur- 
rent, we  put  our  backs  to  the  paddles,  and  soon  we  were 
shooting  down  the  river  at  what,  considering  our  load, 
was  a  rattling  speed.  According  to  the  best  accounts, 
it  was  thirty-five  miles  to  Giscome  Portage  by  river. 
We  hoped  to  reach  there  by  a  little  after  noon  and,  if 
luck  favored  us,  to  have  our  goods  hauled  across  so  that 
we  could  camp  on  the  shore  of  Summit  Lake  that  night. 


Q      i: 

<      u 
(/I     ^ 


o   ": 

as     '5 
P4    -= 


FROM  PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS         37 

Both  of  us  were  in  high  spirits,  and  Joe  broke  again  and 
again  into  his  favorite  songs. 

A  few  miles  of  steady  paddling  brought  us  to  the  pre- 
emption of  our  friend  from  East  Tennessee,  and  I  landed 
for  a  minute  to  take  a  look  at  his  outfit  and  to  wave  him 
farewell  as  he  picked  strawberries  from  among  his  luxu- 
riant vines.  We  passed  a  number  of  small  islands  and 
the  mouth  of  the  slough  that  drains  Hansard  and  Aleza 
Lakes,  and  we  gazed  with  interest  at  the  mouth  of  the 
North  Fork,  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  the  Salmon 
River.  Some  idea  of  the  newness  of  the  country  can  be 
obtained  from  the  fact  that  on  the  latest  maps  of  the 
Prince  George  district  the  course  of  this  river,  except 
for  the  last  few  miles,  is  represented  by  dotted  lines. 
To  the  north  of  the  upper  Fraser  and  to  the  south  of  it 
also,  for  that  matter,  there  are  great  stretches  of  country 
that  have  not  yet  been  really  explored. 

I  had  expected  to  see  ducks  along  the  Fraser,  but  in 
our  trips  upon  it  we  did  not  see  a  single  one.  In  fact, 
the  river  was  singularly  devoid  of  bird  life.  We  saw  two 
or  three  gulls,  and  there  were  a  few  kingfishers  and 
plenty  of  tiny  tip-ups,  that  is,  sandpipers,  which  ran  up 
and  down  the  edge  of  the  water  bowing  politely  to  us 
and  uttering  their  high-C  little  cries.  These  birds  were 
to  be  almost  constant  companions  on  every  stream  we 
navigated. 

Perhaps  twenty  miles  below  Hansard,  as  we  were 
paddling  along  a  hundred  feet  from  the  left  bank,  which 
was  ten  or  a  dozen  feet  high  and  thickly  overgrown  with 
trees  and  red  willows,  I  heard  a  crackling  among  the 

710  07 


38  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

bushes.  Thinking  that  the  noise  might  be  made  by  a 
bear,  I  caught  up  one  of  my  rifles,  which  was  lying  in  the 
bow,  and  as  I  did  so  saw  a  large  moose  standing  on  the 
bank.  The  animal's  head  and  neck  were  hidden  behind 
a  spruce,  and  I  was  unable  to  see  whether  or  not  it  was 
a  bull  or  a  cow.  Had  I  been  so  minded  I  could  by  quick 
work  have  landed  a  bullet  in  its  anatomy,  but,  of  course, 
had  no  thought  of  doing  so.  I  did,  however,  want  its 
picture,  but  it  almost  immediately  moved  out  of  sight 
in  the  thick  bush,  and,  though  we  paddled  up  and  down 
the  shore  for  a  few^  minutes,  we  saw  it  no  more.  The 
episode  was  most  pleasurable,  and  the  sight  so  early  in 
the  trip  of  a  great  wild  beast  seemed  to  augur  favorably 
for  the  future. 

Toward  noon  the  character  of  the  country  began  to 
change.  The  mountains,  which  had  been  far  distant 
from  the  river  about  Hansard,  began  to  pinch  in  once 
more,  and  we  saw  one  on  the  north  bank  that  is  said 
to  be  an  almost  sure  find  for  caribou.  Groves  of  slender, 
tall,  white  poplar  became  common,  and  in  places  the 
banks  of  the  river  rose  in  almost  sheer  walls.  The  trem- 
bling, light-green  leaves  of  the  poplars  contrasted  with 
the  dark-green  foliage  of  the  spruce  and  fir;  and  the  play 
of  colors  was  the  more  pronounced  because  the  day, 
which  had  begun  with  a  bright  sun,  had  turned  cloudy 
and  stormy.  From  time  to  time  black  thunder-heads 
threatened  to  pour  a  deluge  down  upon  us,  but  we  were 
lucky  enough  not  to  be  in  their  path,  and,  though  we 
saw  much  rain  fall,  we  escaped  except  for  a  few  scattered 
drops. 


FROM   PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS         39 

"When  we  turn  the  bend  at  the  end  of  this  reach 
we'll  see  the  portage,"  Joe  announced  a  Httle  after 
noon.  "It  lies  at  the  west  end  of  that  mountain  ridge 
yonder." 

We  turned  the  bend  and  many  another  after  it,  how- 
ever, and  still  the  river-banks  stretched  out  untenanted 
before  us.  The  fact  was  that  it  had  been  several  years 
since  Joe  had  navigated  this  stretch  of  the  river,  and  it 
is  not  strange  that  he  was  in  a  sense  lost.  A  gusty  wind 
sprang  up,  roughening  the  river  so  much  that  we  were 
compelled,  because  of  our  meagre  free-board,  to  keep  to 
the  sheltered  side. 

At  last,  a  dozen  miles  beyond  where  Joe  had  first 
announced  its  impending  appearance,  the  portage  burst 
upon  our  sight.  It  was  marked  by  a  cultivated  farm, 
rising  gently  up  from  the  river,  with  fields  of  oats  and 
timothy  hay  that  had  been  cut  and  put  into  cocks,  the 
most  noticeable  feature  of  the  view  being  a  white-painted 
frame  house.  A  number  of  empty  scows  and  dugout 
canoes  were  tied  up  to  the  bank,  and  drawn  out  upon  it 
sat  a  short,  dumpy  vessel  that  by  courtesy  might  be 
called  a  steamboat. 

The  only  person  in  sight  on  the  landscape  was  a  man 
hoeing  in  a  potato-field  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  thither 
I  walked  while  Joe  was  tying  up  the  canoe.  The  indi- 
vidual in  question  proved  to  be  only  a  hired  man,  as 
neither  Seabach  nor  Hubble,  the  proprietors  of  the  farm 
and  of  the  wagons  that  make  the  portage,  were  at  home, 
though  both  were  expected  back  shortly.  Their  potato 
crop  looked  promising,  as  did  also  their  oats.     They  even 


40  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

had  a  young  orchard  they  had  set  out  the  year  before. 
The  apple-trees  looked  thrifty  enough,  but  whether  they 
will  produce  in  a  region  where  the  temperature  some- 
times falls  as  low  as  fifty  degrees  below  zero  Fahrenheit 
remains  to  be  seen. 

Messrs.  Seabach  and  Hubble,  as  I  was  already  aware, 
were  the  pioneers  in  this  particular  section,  having  lo- 
cated here  several  years  before.  They  still  remain  the 
only  settlers.  I  had  been  told  that  they  were  grasping 
in  disposition,  inclined  to  charge  all  that  the  "traffic 
would  bear,"  and  this  reputation  was  borne  out  in  Hul- 
bert  Footner's  account  of  his  trip  through  the  country. 
Not  only  did  they  charge  Footner  an  outrageous  price 
for  a  few  articles,  but  in  hauling  his  collapsible  canvas 
boat  over  the  portage  they  punctured  a  hole  in  it  and 
craftily  plugged  it  up  with  a  little  axle-grease,  so  that 
he  did  not  discover  the  damage  until  they  had  returned 
across  the  portage. 

After  looking  over  the  farm  I  went  back  to  the  land- 
ing and  we  cooked  and  ate  lunch.  Near  by  there  was  a 
long,  crude  dugout  hauled  up  on  the  bank,  and,  as  it  was 
the  first  I  had  seen  in  this  region  close  at  hand,  I  exam- 
ined it  with  interest.  On  the  bow  I  noticed  a  suspicious 
dark-red  stain,  and  closer  inspection  revealed  some 
coarse  brown  hairs. 

About  three  o'clock  a  sandy-haired  little  fellow,  who 
proved  to  be  Mr.  Seabach,  drove  up  in  a  farm  wagon 
from  down  the  river.  He  agreed  to  carry  our  stuff  over 
that  day,  and  he  said  that  he  intended  also  to  haul  over 
the  dugout  that  I  had  inspected.     The  dugout  belonged 


FROM  PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS         41 

to  a  certain  Ivor  Guest,  of  McLeod  Lake.  Guest  had 
already  crossed  the  portage  on  foot. 

A  little  later  Mr.  Hubble  arrived  from  somewhere. 
He  was  a  decided  contrast  to  his  partner,  being  a  tall, 
stalwart  man,  with  black  hair  and  strikingly  black  eyes. 
He  told  us  that  he  had  once  been  a  miner  in  the  Klon- 
dike and  had  spent  a  winter  trapping  on  the  little-known 
Liard  River  in  northern  British  Columbia.  His  chief 
impression  of  the  Liard  was  the  great  number  of  porcu- 
pines in  that  region,  he  and  his  partner  having  killed 
over  seventy  for  dog  food.  In  view  of  recent  experience 
this  detail  did  not  arouse  in  us  any  great  desire  to  visit 
the  Liard  country. 

I  jokingly  referred  to  the  bloody  bow  of  the  dugout 
and  suggested  that  some  one  had  been  having  fresh  meat 
recently. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  agreed  carelessly.  "Ivor  Guest  shot  a 
deer  coming  down  the  Eraser  from  Aleza  Lake  yester- 
day. The  carcass  is  hanging  up  in  that  tree  over  yon- 
der, to  keep  it  out  of  reach  of  the  flies.'* 

He  pointed  to  an  object  swinging  high  up  in  a  tree  not 
far  from  his  house. 

"Guest  shot  it  with  a  .22  short,"  he  added,  and  this 
we  later  learned  from  Guest  was  quite  correct.  As 
Guest  was  paddling  down  the  Eraser  late  in  the  evening, 
the  deer  had  stood  watching  him  until  he  was  only  a 
short  distance  away;  a  tiny  bullet  from  a  tiny  rifle  had 
struck  the  foolish  animal  in  the  neck  and  ended  its  foolish 
career. 

When  we  informed  Hubble  that  the  game  warden 


42  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

from  Prince  George,  a  disabled  veteran  of  the  Princess 
Pats,  had  told  us  that  he  expected  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
portage  shortly,  Hubble  seemed  in  nowise  alarmed  and 
merely  remarked: 

*'If  he  don't  hurry  up  and  get  here  pretty  soon,  he 
won't  get  any  of  the  venison  !" 

I  asked  Hubble  if  he  remembered  Hulbert  Footner 
and  his  partner  passing  through  in  191 2,  and  he  said 
that  he  did  and  recalled  an  incident  or  two  of  their  trip, 
but  said  nothing  about  the  punctured  boat. 

"They  got  a  hole  in  their  canoe  on  the  way  over  the 
portage,"  I  ventured. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Hubble  said  airily,  "but  they  had  some 
stuff  with  which  they  easily  fixed  it  up." 

Evidently  he  did  not  wash  to  recall  the  episode  of 
the  axle-grease !  Joe,  to  whom  I  had  told  the  story, 
stole  a  glance  at  me  and  grinned,  but  we  said  no  more. 

Judging  from  our  experience  with  Messrs.  Seabach 
and  Hubble,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  perhaps  they 
have  been  painted  blacker  than  they  are.  They  carried 
our  stuff  over  for  the  reasonable  sum  of  seven  dollars 
and  a  half,  and  delivered  it  at  the  lake  in  good  shape. 
Furthermore,  the  prices  at  their  store  seemed  not  too 
high,  in  view  of  its  location.  I  suspect  that,  after  all, 
they  are  just  alert  business  men  and,  withal,  pretty  good 
fellows,  in  spite  of  their  reputation  among  trappers  and 
prospectors. 

At  this  place  I  made  my  first  acquaintance  with  bull- 
dog flies.  These  insects  closely  resemble  the  ordinary 
horsefly  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  but  are  scarcely  half 


FROM   PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS         43 

its  size.  They  flew  round  Messrs.  Seabach  and  Hubble's 
horses  in  swarms,  and  a  little  earlier  in  the  year  are  a 
terror  both  to  domestic  animals  and  to  such  wild  ones 
as  moose  and  caribou.  Unlike  mosquitoes,  they  do  not 
seem  to  care  much  for  the  blood  of  man,  and  yet  now 
and  then  one  will  persist  in  buzzing  about  one's  head 
in  a  most  provoking  way,  and,  unless  watched  closely, 
is  likely  to  take  a  nip,  and  a  big  one,  out  of  any  exposed 
flesh. 

Seabach  told  us  that,  owing  to  the  flies,  he  would 
not  start  across  the  portage  until  dusk  began  to  fall, 
so  we  helped  stow  our  belongings  in  a  wagon,  and  then, 
taking  my  camera  and  light  rifle,  Joe  and  I  set  out  on 
the  eight-mile  tramp  to  Summit  Lake. 

The  trail  we  followed  is  one  that  for  a  generation  or 
more  has  been  used  by  Indians  and  Hudson's  Bay  men, 
and  more  recently  by  trappers  and  prospectors.  Origi- 
nally it  was  a  mere  footpath,  but  a  few  years  ago  it  was 
made  wide  enough  to  admit  the  passage  of  a  wagon. 
In  wet  weather  the  trail  is  undoubtedly  a  quagmire,  but 
it  was  now  reasonably  dry,  and  walking  on  it  was  a 
pleasure.  The  day,  which  had  been  fine  and  then 
stormy,  was  fair  once  more,  and  we  made  good  time  as 
we  swung  along  the  trail  through  the  jack-pines  (lodge- 
pole  pines)  and  spruce. 

The  trail  is  used  more  or  less  by  Indians  from  the 
McLeod  Lake  country,  coming  and  going  to  and  from 
Seabach  and  Hubble's  or  Prince  George  to  trade  their 
fur.  In  several  places  we  saw  jack-pines  that  these 
Indians  had  peeled  to  get  sap — mute  evidence  that  the 


44  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

Siwash  is  hard  put  to  it  for  food  and  often  totters  on 
the  verge  of  starvation. 

We  were  now  passing  over  the  divide  to  a  region 
draining  into  the  Arctic,  and  this  gave  added  zest  to 
the  walk.  The  portage-trail  rises  several  hundred  feet 
and  does  not  descend  so  far  on  the  north  side,  with  the 
result  that  Summit  Lake  is  about  two  hundred  feet 
higher  than  is  the  Eraser  at  the  other  end  of  the  portage. 
So  far  as  I  discovered  from  a  cursory  survey,  there  is 
no  considerable  change  in  vegetation,  though  the  woods 
on  the  Arctic  slope  seem  more  open  and  the  trees  smaller. 
There  is  a  decided  difference  in  the  finny  denizens  of 
the  two  river  systems,  and  much  the  better  fishing — 
with  a  rod — is  to  be  found  on  the  Peace  River  side. 
The  greatest  food  fish  of  the  Northwest — the  salmon — 
does  not,  however,  occur  in  the  Arctic  waters,  and  the 
Indians  who  live  on  these  waters  lead  a  much  more 
precarious  existence  than  do  those  who  frequent  good 
salmon  streams  on  the  Pacific  side  of  the  divide.  Salmon, 
fresh  or  dried,  is  the  staff  of  life  to  the  Pacific  coast 
Siwash,  but  the  natives  of  the  Arctic  slope  have  no  such 
recourse  and  must  sometimes  eat  the  sap  of  jack-pines. 

As  we  climbed  a  long  hill  we  caught  up  with  a  wagon 
drawn  by  a  span  of  mules,  and  behind  the  wagon  trudged 
my  Prince  George  acquaintance,  Witt,  and  his  Siwash 
dog  and  another  man  whom  I  did  not  know.  The 
stranger,  whose  name  proved  to  be  Matteson,  had  formed 
a  pa/tnership  with  Witt,  and  they  had  hired  the  driver 
and  his  team  to  haul  their  outfit  by  the  wagon-trail 
from   Prince  George  to  Summit   Lake.    They  made  a 


The  start  ox  Summit  Lake. 


Ox    the    DI\  IDE    BETWEEN    PACIFIC    AXD    ArCTIC    WATERS. 
The  trail  had  been  used  for  several  senerations  by  Indians  and  Hudson's  Bay  men. 


FROM  PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS         45 

mystery  of  whither  they  were  bound,  and,  in  accordance 
with  the  etiquette  of  the  country,  we  did  not  ask  them 
to  disclose  their  destination.  We  inferred,  however, 
that  they  had  some  rainbow  dream  of  golden  sands,  with 
perhaps  some  trapping  to  fall  back  upon  in  winter,  in 
case  the  dream  should  prove  to  be  an  empty  one.  Hope 
springs  eternal  in  the  breast  of  the  prospector ! 

The  wagon  was  too  slow  for  us,  so  by  and  by  we 
passed  it  and  hurried  on  down  the  farther  slope,  and  a 
little  before  sunset  reached  Summit  Lake,  Three  or 
four  log  buildings  stand  at  the  end  of  the  portage  at  the 
lake  shore,  and  in  one  of  them  Seabach  and  Hubble  keep 
a  small  stock  of  goods  in  charge  of  an  old  man  whose 
name  I  do  not  recall.  Seemingly  the  only  other  inhabi- 
tant of  the  region  roundabout  was  a  Swede  named  Gus 
Dalton,  who  has  a  pre-emption  not  far  from  the  end  of 
the  portage  and  does  a  little  trapping  in  winter. 

Dalton's  talk  ran  almost  immediately  to  the  subject 
of  grub  and  never  wandered  far  from  it.  Thus  was 
brought  to  my  attention  a  phenomenon  that  I  had  no- 
ticed before  in  the  North  Country — that  fully  half  the 
conversation  is  about  things  to  eat.  A  large  part  of  the 
stories  told  deal  either  with  situations  in  which  there 
was  a  shortage  of  grub  or  else  with  those  in  which  there 
was  a  superabundance  of  superfine  edibles.  Later  in 
the  trip  I  was  to  realize  more  fully  why  the  talk  ran  so 
much  in  one  channel. 

As  seen  from  the  portage,  Summit  Lake  is  a  clear  and 
irregular  body  of  water,  surrounded  by  densely  wooded 
shores,  which  rise  in  places  to  the  dignity  of  considerable 


46  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

hills.  The  lake  lies  in  latitude  54°  40'  N.,  and  its  eleva- 
tion above  sea-level  is  2,400  feet.  There  are  moose  and 
bear  among  the  hills,  though  not  in  large  numbers,  and 
caribou  occasionally  stray  thither.  The  water  is  clear, 
the  bottom  of  gravel,  and  this  evening  rainbow  and 
Dolly  Varden  trout  were  making  a  great  commotion 
feeding. 

At  the  lake  we  caught  up  with  Ivor  Guest,  whose 
dugout  was  being  brought  over  with  our  canoe,  and  from 
him  we  learned  the  full  story  of  the  deer  that  had  suc- 
cumbed to  a  .22  short.  Guest  is  a  pink-cheeked,  com- 
pactly built  little  fellow,  with  a  tiny  mustache.  He  is 
a  native  of  Nova  Scotia,  a  descendant  of  a  family  of 
Massachusetts  Loyalists,  and  he  lived  for  a  few  months 
in  Chicago,  where  he  worked  as  a  photographer.  For 
two  or  three  years  he  was  provincial  fire-warden  between 
Summit  Lake  and  Fort  McLeod,  but  he  now  has  a  trad- 
ing-post on  Pack  River,  near  the  outlet  of  McLeod  Lake, 
and  is  bucking  Hudson's  Bay  for  the  Indian  trade.  He 
had  been  to  Prince  George  on  business,  and  like  us  had 
gone  eastward  on  the  Grand  Trunk,  but  had  stopped  at 
Aleza  Lake,  had  there  bought  a  rough  dugout,  and  had 
reached  the  Fraser  by  a  slough  that  we  had  noticed  a 
few  miles  below  Hansard.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was 
a  capital  fellow,  and,  as  he  was  thoroughly  familiar  with 
the  route  as  far  as  McLeod,  I  was  doubly  glad  when  he 
proposed  that  we  travel  together. 

It  was  near  ten  o'clock  when  our  outfit  finally  reached 
the  lake,  and  as  we  had  had  no  food  with  us  it  was  pretty 
late  before  we  had   eaten   supper  and   rolled   into  our 


FROM   PACIFIC  TO  ARCTIC  WATERS         47 

blankets.  Happily  the  night  was  cold — almost  freezing 
— and  we  were  troubled  little  by  mosquitoes. 

It  had  been  a  long  but  also  a  lucky  day.  Not  only 
had  we  made  the  thirty-five  miles  down  the  Fraser,  but 
we  had  also  crossed  the  portage — either  usually  regarded 
a  day's  task. 

It  was  a  keen  satisfaction  to  me,  as  I  lay  looking  out 
at  the  North  Star — which,  I  noted,  was  much  more 
directly  overhead  than  at  home — to  know  that  we  were 
at  last  really  on  our  way  and  were  camped  on  Arctic 
waters.  Before  us  lay  the  great,  silent,  mysterious  do- 
main of  romance  and  fur. 


CHAPTER   IV 
GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER 

Next  morning,  as  Guest  had  only  a  light  load,  he 
kindly  agreed  to  carry  Peterson's  case  of  jam  as  far  as 
McLeod  Lake,  and  thus  we  were  relieved  of  sixty  or 
seventy  pounds  of  weight,  with  the  result  that  our  canoe 
rode  a  bit  lighter.  It  had  been  our  intention  to  start 
with  Guest,  but  he  decided  to  reduce  the  weight  of  his 
rough  dugout  and  to  give  her  better  lines,  and  so  set  to 
work  hewing  her  down  with  a  hand-axe.  As  there  was 
danger  that  a  wind  might  kick  up  enough  of  a  sea  on 
the  lake  to  prevent  us  from  proceeding,  we  said  good- 
by  to  the  assembled  trappers  and  prospectors,  shoved 
off  from  shore,  and  paddled  on  our  way. 

"I'll  catch  up  with  you  on  the  Crooked,"  Guest 
called  after  us. 

A  light  head  wind  had  already  sprung  up,  roughening 

the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  we  made  haste  to  paddle 

across  the  main  stretch  of  water  in  order  to  reach  the 

shelter  of  the  farther  shore.     To  do  this  was  a  matter 

of  less  than  an  hour,  as  Summit  Lake,  though  twelve  or 

fifteen  miles  from   shore   to  shore   in   places,   is  chiefly 

made  up  of  a  labyrinth  of  islands,  arms,  and  channels. 

It  is  very  easy  for  travellers  unacquainted  with  the  lake 

to  become  lost  on  it,  and  one  party  is  said  to  have  spent 

four  days  searching  for  the  outlet.     Those  who  know 

48 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         49 

the  lake  steer  toward  a  conical  hill  of  rock  that  goes  by 
the  name  of  Teapot  Mountain;  the  outlet  lies  beyond 
this  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  arm.  There  are  several  of 
these  conical  hills  farther  on;  one  of  the  most  notable 
bears  the  name  of  Coffee  Pot  Mountain. 

As  we  neared  the  outlet  I  tried  trolling,  for  my  fish- 
ing blood  was  surging  pretty  strong;  but  either  the 
weather  was  unfavorable  or  the  fish  were  not  hungry, 
for  I  had  no  success. 

Just  before  we  reached  the  outlet  we  landed  in  a 
thicket  of  young  spruce  and  cut  two  poles.  We  peeled 
and  shaved  them  off  nicely  and  cut  them  to  a  length  of 
about  ten  feet.  Their  acquisition  was  a  sign  that  new 
conditions  of  travel  were  impending. 

Measured  by  the  amount  of  water  it  carries,  the  out- 
let of  Summit  Lake  is  no  more  than  a  small  creek.  In 
places  it  contracts  until  it  is  only  a  few  feet  wide  and 
very  shallow  and  swift;  in  others  it  broadens  out  into 
long  stretches  of  water  so  dead  that  even  by  dipping 
your  hand  down  you  cannot  tell  which  way  the  current 
runs.  In  these  quiet  stretches  the  current  is  often  nearly 
blocked  with  yellow  water-lilies.  The  stream  is  rightly 
named  the  Crooked,  for  it  winds  here  and  there  in  a 
seemingly  most  purposeless  and  aimless  manner,  though 
the  general  direction  is  north.  The  low  banks  are  cut 
by  numerous  arms  and  sloughs,  and  in  many  places  are 
covered  with  a  growth  of  willow  so  thick  and  matted 
together  as  to  be  practically  impenetrable. 

The  Crooked  River  is  almost  unique  among  British 
Columbia  streams,  in  that,  except  for  the  conical  ''pots" 


50  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

already  mentioned,  no  mountains  can  be  seen  from  it. 
The  Rockies  lie  too  far  to  the  eastward  to  be  visible 
unless  one  could  reach  a  considerable  elevation;  the 
mountains  along  the  Eraser  lie  too  far  behind,  and  the 
western  ranges  are  also  too  distant. 

We  had  not  gone  far  before  I  surrendered  entirely  to 
the  charm  of  this  little  stream.  It  was  so  small  that  one 
obtained  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  it  and  its 
banks  than  is  possible  on  a  real  river.  The  water  was 
clear  as  crystal,  and  fish  were  almost  constantly  in  sight, 
sometimes  darting  hither  and  yon  by  ones  and  twos, 
sometimes  swimming  in  great  schools.  They  were 
mostly  of  the  variety  called  '*  suckers,"  but  now  and 
then  we  caught  fleeting  glimpses  of  more  shapely  fish, 
whose  sides  were  speckled  with  small  red  dots.  The 
bottom  in  many  places  was  of  beautiful  clean  sand  or 
gravel,  with  now  and  then  boulders  of  considerable  size. 
As  we  floated  over  the  pellucid  depths  the  canoe  seemed 
balanced  between  earth  and  sky,  and  we  experienced  a 
sensation  akin  to  that  of  flying. 

At  intervals  we  came  to  miniature  rapids,  where  the 
sparkling  stream  raced  joyously  over  beds  of  parti-colored 
pebbles.  The  water  in  such  places  was  rarely  more  than 
a  foot  or  two  deep;  often  it  was  only  seven  or  eight 
inches,  while  the  channel  was  frequently  no  more  than 
four  or  five  feet  wide.  The  turns  were  numerous  and 
abrupt,  and  it  required  the  liveliest  sort  of  work  with 
our  poles  to  negotiate  these  turns  successfully.  The 
water  was  so  clear  that  as  we  floated  down  these  swift 
reaches  the  shining  pebbles  seemed  even  closer  than  they 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         51 

really  were.     We  almost  never  touched  them,  but  during 
much  of  the  time  we  had  only  an  inch  or  two  to  spare. 

"I'll  bet  there  ain't  another  river  in  the  world  like 
it!"  declared  Joe  with  enthusiasm. 

It  was  plain  that  originally  the  stream  had  been  less 
navigable  than  now,  for  along  many  of  the  shallows  there 
lay,  on  either  side,  a  line  of  boulders  that  had  evidently 
been  rolled  out  of  the  way.     The  channel  thus  created 
is  known  to  navigators    as   the   "Wagon-Road."     Just 
who  did  this  work  is  uncertain,  but  one  tradition  says 
that  it  was  done  by  a  certain  "Twelve-Foot"  Davis,  who 
was  once  a  well-known  character  on  these  watercourses. 
Davis  derived  his  sobriquet  not  from  any  excess  of  bodily 
stature,  but  from  the  fact  that  at  some  mining-camp  in 
the  early  days  he  had  become  the  possessor  of  a  twelve- 
foot  fraction  between  two  mining  claims.     The  fraction 
proved  very  rich  in  gold,  and  from  it  Davis  obtained  a 
stake  that  was  helpful  in  later  life.     He  was  for  years  a 
"free  trader"  in  the  Peace  River  country,  and  at  one 
time  had  a  little  fur  post  at  the  west  end  of  the  great 
Peace  River  Canyon.     Subsequently  he  died  at  Slave 
Lake  and  was  buried  on  a  high  hill  overlooking  Peace 
River  Crossing.     I  saw  the  grave  on  my  way  out.     The 
epitaph  on  the  newly  erected  tombstone  states  that  "he 
was   pathfinder,   pioneer,   miner,   and   trader.     He   was 
every  man's  friend  and  never  locked  his  cabin  door." 

Occasionally  we  saw  beaver  cuttings,  and  two  or 
three  times  noticed  dams  across  brooks  that  emptied 
into  the  main  stream.  At  one  place  some  enterprising 
flat-tails  had  built  a  strong  dam  right  across  the  Crooked 


52  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

itself,  and  travellers  have  been  obliged  repeatedly  to  cut 
a  breach  in  order  to  get  through.  The  beavers  had  not 
begun  the  work  of  reconstruction  since  the  last  traveller 
had  passed,  and  we  found  just  width  and  depth  enough 
to  go  shooting  through  the  gap.  Before  the  white  man 
came  with  his  demand  for  fur  this  Crooked  River  region 
must  undoubtedly  have  been  one  of  the  greatest  beaver 
countries  in  the  world.  There  are  still  many  of  them, 
and  literally  tens  of  thousands  of  musquash,  dozens  of 
which  we  saw  swimming  about  in  the  shallow  sloughs. 

Throughout  the  day  we  kept  hoping  that  Guest 
would  catch  up  with  us,  and  in  the  water  opposite  our 
nooning-place  we  stuck  a  cleft  stick  bearing  a  note  in- 
forming him  that  we  would  camp  at  the  foot  of  a  certain 
hill.  We  reached  the  hill  about  mid-afternoon,  and  once 
more  tried  fishing  in  a  promising  riffle  that  flowed  in 
front  of  the  camp.  But  the  day,  which  had  begun 
bright  and  clear,  had  turned  cold  and  raw,  and,  in  spite 
of  our  best  efforts,  we  managed  to  catch  only  two  small 
"Dolly  Vardens,"  both  of  them  with  flies.  As  I  had 
heard  glowing  stories  of  the  glorious  fishing  along  the 
Crooked,  I  was  a  bit  disgusted  and  discouraged,  and  I 
said  to  Joe: 

'Tm  afraid  that  Crooked   River  fishing  is   a  good 
deal  like  many  other  things  of  which  I  have  heard — bet- 
ter in  prospect  than  in  realization." 
"Just  wait,"  he  said  confidently. 

Later  I  took  my  rifle  and  set  out  for  the  hill  at  whose 
foot  we  were  camped.  On  the  way  I  crossed  a  small 
meadow  in  which  I  saw  some  old  moose  tracks.     The 


GOLDEN  DAYS  ON  CROOKED  RIVER         53 

hill  was  several  hundred  feet  high,  and  from  its  top  I 
had  a  good  view  of  the  course  of  Crooked  River  and  its 
meanderings.  The  slopes  of  the  hill  were  composed  in 
large  part  of  bare  rock  slides,  but  wherever  there  was 
any  soil  there  were  a  few  jack-pines  and  a  profusion  of 
huckleberries.  A  faint  trail  led  along  the  hillside  near 
the  foot,  and  I  noticed  scores  of  jack-pines  that  had 
been  peeled  by  the  hungry  Siwash.  In  view  of  the 
abundance  of  berries,  I  had  hopes  that  I  might  see  a 
bear,  but  after  watching  for  a  long  time  and  suffering 
severely  from  a  torment  of  black  flies  I  returned  to  camp 
without  having  experienced  an  adventure  of  any  sort. 

Our  camping-place  was  one  that  had  been  used  the 
previous  year  by  some  party  of  white  men.  A  cross-pole 
resting  in  forked  sticks  stood  ready  to  our  hands,  and 
there  were  also  plenty  of  notched  pothooks.  Several 
times  in  the  early  stages  of  our  trips  we  were  able  to 
make  use  of  the  paraphernalia  of  old  camps  and  thus 
to  lighten  our  labor.  When  we  made  a  new  camp  we 
were  usually  content  merely  to  drive  some  leaning  sticks 
into  the  ground  to  support  our  pots. 

Our  procedure  in  camping  was  usually  about  as  fol- 
lows: As  soon  as  the  canoe  touched  the  bank  beneath 
the  spot  we  had  selected,  I  would  spring  out,  pull  the 
bow  of  the  canoe  up  on  the  bank  and  tie  the  craft  se- 
curely to  some  root  or  tree.  I  would  then  take  out  the 
axe  and  a  couple  of  pots,  fill  the  pots  with  water  and 
mount  the  bank.  Having  selected  a  good  spot  for  the 
purpose,  I  would  proceed  to  build  a  fire,  generally  using 
the  dry  dead  twigs  that  can  usually  be  found  within  the 


54  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

"funnel"  of  a  spruce.  Birch  bark  is  also  good  for  this 
purpose.  Having  got  a  fire  to  going,  I  would  rig  up 
some  leaning  sticks  and  hang  the  pots  over  the  fire,  after 
which  I  would  rustle  more  dry  wood.  Meanwhile  Joe 
would  be  unpacking  the  grub  supply  and  the  necessary 
frying-pans,  et  cetera.  The  baking  of  a  bannock  was 
usually  in  order,  and  for  this  purpose  the  folding  alumi- 
num reflector  baker  was  "jake."  Joe  was  almost  as 
good  a  cook  as  he  was  a  canoeman,  and,  whatever  the 
decision  as  to  the  menu,  he  invariably  managed  to  pre- 
pare an  appetizing  "feed."  Pitching  my  tent  and  cut- 
ting a  supply  of  spruce  boughs  for  beds  fell  usually  to 
me.  On  this  stage  of  the  trip  Joe  pitched  for  his  own 
use  a  little,  low  mosquito  tent,  of  a  type  much  used  in 
that  country.  Supper  over,  I  would  turn  scullion  and 
clean  up  the  dishes,  pots,  and  pans,  sometimes  aided  by 
Joe.  Later,  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  I  would  write  down 
in  short  and  cryptic  form  the  events  of  the  day,  while 
Joe  would  smoke  a  few  final  pipes. 

At  such  times  Joe  enjoyed  talking  about  himself  and 
his  experiences.  He  was  fond  of  boasting  of  his  exploits 
as  a  riverman  and  trapper,  and  he  told  many  interesting 
stories  of  his  experiences  in  these  roles.  When  in  the 
settlements  he  afi^ected  the  part  of  a  gay  Lothario,  and, 
being  handsome  and  a  showy  dresser,  claimed  to  have 
had  great  success  in  this  character.  His  accounts  of  his 
exploits  in  this  direction  were  often  amusing,  and  I  ven- 
ture to  say  that  he  could  readily  furnish  a  Boccaccio 
with  ample  material  for  a  new  Decameron. 

Soon  after  our  start  next  morning  we  saw  a  covey  of 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         55 

willow  (ruffed)  grouse,  but  I  failed  to  get  a  shot  at  any 
of  them.  We  passed  along  a  number  of  "wagon-roads," 
one  of  them  unusually  long  and  rapid.  Down  it  we  shot 
almost  as  swiftly  as  a  log  descending  a  flume.  At  the 
foot  of  one  such  riffle  we  found  a  likely-looking  fishing 
spot,  and,  as  the  morning  was  bright  and  warm,  the 
trout  were  rising  by  dozens.  To  set  up  my  rod  and 
make  ready  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  moments.  Using 
a  spinner  that  was  baited  with  the  silvery  throat  of  one 
of  the  fish  caught  the  previous  evening,  I  was  soon  con- 
vinced that  the  stories  told  of  fishing  on  these  waters 
were  not  mere  figments  of  idle  imaginations.  The  hun- 
gry denizens  of  that  delightful  pool  stood  not  upon  for- 
mality but  dashed  at  my  attractive  tackle  as  if  they 
had  been  fasting  for  a  year.  None  of  them  was  excep- 
tionally large,  the  biggest  hardly  three  pounds,  and  the 
average  perhaps  a  pound  and  a  half,  but  within  a  few 
minutes  I  had  ten  or  a  dozen  flopping  over  Joe's  feet  in 
the  stern.  Most  of  the  fish  were  Dolly  Vardens,  a  few 
were  rainbows,  and  one  or  two  were  impudent  and  un- 
welcome "squawfish"  that  persisted  in  compelling  me 
to  pull  them  in.  These  last  are  a  rather  attractive-look- 
ing fish,  in  general  appearance  not  unlike  a  perch,  though 
not  so  handsomely  marked.  I  have  little  doubt  that 
they  would  be  fairly  toothsome,  but  we  never  tried  them, 
hurling  them  contemptuously  back  and  keeping  only 
the  rainbows  and  Dolly  Vardens. 

The  Dolly  Varden  trout,  sometimes  known  as  the 
bull-trout  and  by  the  Indians  as  sapi,  is  a  first  cousin  to 
the  lake-trout  and  the  brook-trout,  the  scientific  cogno- 


S6    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE   RIVER 

men  of  the  Dolly  Varden  being  Salvelinus  malmay  that 
of  the  lake-trout  Salvelinus  namacush,  and  that  of  the 
brook-trout  Salvelinus  fontinalis.  In  appearance  it  is  a 
shapely  fish,  with  a  large  mouth  well  stocked  with  needle- 
sharp  teeth  and  vvith  sides  plentifully  sprinkled  with 
orange-colored  spots.  It  is  as  voracious  as  a  pike  or 
muskallonge,  as  some  stories  I  shall  have  to  tell  of  it 
will  show.  In  some  cases  the  smaller  fish  can  be  caught 
with  flies;  the  two  I  caught  the  previous  day  had  been 
thus  inveigled;  but,  generally  speaking,  they  take  best 
a  baited  spinner,  and  for  bait  nothing  seems  to  beat  the 
white  throat  of  another  fish,  though  bulldog  flies  are  also 
fascinating.  The  spinner  with  which  we  had  greatest 
success  was  of  medium  size  and  bore  half  a  dozen  orange 
beads  about  the  size  of  a  pea.  The  Dolly  is  a  hard, 
gamy  fighter,  generally  breaks  water  on  feeling  the 
hook,  and  the  flesh  is  excellent. 

The  rainbow-trout  is  a  bit  of  a  mystery.  According 
to  some  accounts,  it  is  really  a  young  steelhead,  which  is 
a  sort  of  sea-trout.  The  steelhead  in  some  lakes  has 
become  landlocked  and  is  locally  known  as  salmon. 
However,  the  rainbow  is  caught  in  sizes  up  to  three  or 
four  pounds,  and  I  personally  caught  several  that  were 
full  of  eggs,  and  Ivor  Guest  says  that  they  spawn  every 
month  in  the  year — all  of  which  runs  counter  to  the 
theory  that  they  are  young  steelheads.  As  the  name 
indicates,  the  rainbow  is  marked  along  its  sides  with  an 
iridescent  riot  of  color.  The  beauty  of  this  prismatic 
band  baffles  both  description  and  the  camera  and  must 
be  seen  to  be  appreciated.     The  rainbow  is,  to  my  mind, 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         57 

better  eating  than  is  the  Dolly  Varden,  and  hke  that 
fish,  is  reasonably  free  from  bones.  It  can  be  caught  at 
times  with  a  fly,  but  most  of  those  I  took  were  with  a 
spoon,  either  in  ripples  or  by  trolling  in  lakes.  The  rain- 
bow is  a  fighter  and  does  not  leave  the  angler  long  in 
doubt  as  to  whether  he  has  something  on  his  hook. 

While  we  were  still  engaged  with  the  denizens  of 
that  first  glorious  pool  the  snub  nose  of  a  dugout  shot 
round  the  bend  above,  and  Ivor  Guest  came  into  view. 
He  had  been  detained,  he  told  us,  at  the  portage  for  sev- 
eral hours  by  rough  water  on  Summit  Lake,  but  as  soon 
as  possible  had  hurried  after  us,  and,  finding  our  note, 
had  worked  hard  and,  by  starting  early  that  morning, 
had  caught  us  up.  We  noticed  that  he  had  greatly  im- 
proved the  appearance  of  his  canoe,  but  she  was  an  ill- 
favored  craft  at  best,  for  the  log  from  which  she  had 
been  fashioned  was  a  poor  one. 

"She's  still  a  cranky  beast,"  he  said.  "While  I  was 
hewing  on  the  bow  I  cut  a  hole  right  through  the  shell 
and  had  to  patch  it  up !" 

It  was  now  apparent  that  I  had  caught  the  larger 
fish  at  that  spot,  and  as  I  did  not  care  to  catch  any  more 
small  ones,  I  appealed  to  Guest  to  say  whether  there 
were  any  good  fishing  spots  a  little  farther  on. 

"There  are  plenty  of  good  holes,"  he  answered  read- 
ily. "It  is  only  a  little  way  to  a  much  better  one.  I 
caught  several  big  ones  there  last  fall  when  I  came  up 
to  catch  fish  to  salt  down  for  the  winter." 

We  paddled  on,  and  a  few  more  bends  brought  us 
to  a  place  where  the  stream  broadened  a  bit  and,  on  one 


S8  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

side,  ran  over  a  broad  belt  of  white  sand.  In  a  hole  per- 
haps five  feet  deep  there  lay  an  old  water-soaked  log. 

"Try  casting  just  beyond  that  log,"  said  Guest. 

He  and  Joe  stopped  the  canoes  in  midstream,  while 
I  made  ready.  Suddenly  there  was  a  swirl  of  water 
from  beside  the  log,  and  a  big  finny  form  shot  swiftly 
away.  I  began  casting  in  the  direction  his  Majesty  had 
fled,  but  for  some  minutes  I  labored  in  vain.  Then  the 
fish  reappeared  close  to  the  log,  only  once  more  to  take 
alarm  and  vanish.  Once  more  I  cast  my  spinner  and 
let  it  lie  on  the  white  sand  in  plain  sight.  By  and  by 
along  came  the  fish,  saw  the  bait,  smelled  of  it,  calmly 
proceeded  to  walk  away  with  it.  I  struck — in  vain. 
Followed  another  flight,  another  return.  The  game  was 
repeated,  but  this  time  there  was  no  mistake,  and  I  had 
a  bunch  of  finny  dynamite  at  the  end  of  my  line.  Hither 
and  yon  he  went,  now  springing  out  of  the  water,  now 
sulking  on  the  bottom,  but  all  his  eff^orts  were  vain,  and 
finally  he  was  drawn  into  the  canoe.  He  was  a  five- 
pound  fish,  the  biggest  I  had  yet  caught,  but  not  the 
biggest  I  was  to  catch. 

At  noon  we  built  a  fire  on  a  bank  deeply  covered  with 
sphagnum  moss,  and  there  cooked  some  of  the  fish.  We 
were  not  parsimonious  about  the  number  we  put  into  the 
frying-pan  nor  about  the  number  we  put  into  our  stom- 
achs later.  I  cheerfully  take  oath  that  those  fish  tasted 
good  as  we  sat  on  that  sunny  bank  looking  out  over  the 
river  and  talking  of  many  things,  but  most  of  all  about 
the  country  and  its  inhabitants,  furred,  feathered,  finned, 
and  human.     Upon  all  these  topics  there  was  no  one  in 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         59 

the  whole  region  more  competent  to  talk  with  authority 
than  Guest. 

Among  other  things,  he  told  us  that  he  had  fired  at 
and  hit  a  coyote  with  his  little  .22  on  the  way  to  Prince 
George,  but  the  animal  had  managed  to  escape  him  in 
the  bush.  This  turned  the  talk  to  the  three-dollar 
bounty  that  is  paid  by  the  provincial  government  for 
the  hide  of  this  destructive  little  beast.  Not  long  before 
only  the  scalp  was  required,  but  certain  ingenious  per- 
sons evolved  a  plan  for  getting  more  than  one  scalp  off  a 
single  carcass,  and  the  law  had  to  be  changed.  Guest 
told  of  a  greenhorn  trapper  who  caught  a  "cross"  fox, 
an  animal  whose  pelt  is  worth  several  times  three  dollars, 
and  cut  off  the  scalp  intending  to  claim  the  coyote 
bounty. 

"That's  not  a  coyote;  that's  a  cross  fox,"  Guest  told 
him  when  he  saw  the  scalp. 

The  trapper,  much  chagrined,  hastily  hunted  up  the 
remainder  of  the  pelt,  sewed  the  scalp  back  onto  it,  and 
managed  to  get  a  goodly  sum  for  the  skin,  though  con- 
siderably less  than  he  would  otherwise  have  obtained. 

Then  and  later  Joe  and  Guest  swapped  many  stories 
of  their  experiences  as  fire-wardens.  Needless  to  say,  I 
was  a  rapt  listener,  and  occasionally  interjected  a  ques- 
tion which,  I  hoped,  would  bring  out  some  information 
that  would  illuminate  a  matter  about  which  I  was  in 
doubt.  I  had  thought  of  the  comparative  helplessness  of 
a  single  man  far  out  in  the  wilderness  pitted  agamst  a 
raging  hurricane  of  flame,  and  I  asked  somewhat  naively: 

"What  does  a  warden  do  when  he  finds  a  fire  .?" 


6o  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

"Looks  at  it,"  grinned  Joe. 

Then,  being  fearful  that  I  would  do  the  fire  service 
an  injustice,  he  was  careful  to  explain  that  a  warden  can 
commandeer  the  services  of  any  one  he  finds,  and  other- 
wise is  not  quite  so  helpless  as  he  seems.  Undoubtedly 
the  wardens  do  much  good,  but  the  most  of  it  consists  in 
the  prevention  of  fires  rather  than  in  putting  out  those 
that  are  actually  under  headway.  A  British  Columbia 
law  provides  that  any  one  building  a  camp-fire  must  put 
it  out  before  leaving,  and  in  the  more  travelled  districts 
proclamations  are  posted  setting  forth  the  law  and  ex- 
plaining the  importance  of  preserving  the  forests. 

Unfortunately,  in  British  Columbia  and  elsewhere, 
there  are  individuals  who  are  careless  of  the  damage 
they  may  do.  When  they  think  there  is  no  danger  of 
being  caught,  such  individuals  will  leave  fires  in  the  most 
dangerous  places.  They  are  the  more  apt  to  do  this 
because  camp-fires  are  often  built  on  soil  that  is  so  full 
of  decomposing  vegetable  matter  that,  when  dry,  it 
burns  like  peat.  Of  a  morning  the  camper  finds  that 
his  fire  has  burned  a  great  hole  in  the  ground  during  the 
night  and  has  spread  over  a  considerable  area,  particu- 
larly if  there  happen  to  be  any  old,  half-rotten  logs  lying 
half-buried  in  the  soil.  To  put  out  such  a  fire  requires 
a  lot  of  water  and  labor;  the  temptation  to  let  it  burn  is 
very  great,  as  I  myself  experienced.  The  Indians,  too, 
are  responsible  for  many  bad  fires,  either  through  care- 
lessness or  through  purposely  starting  them.  This  is 
particularly  true  up  Finlay  River,  where  we  on  one  or 
two  occasions  saw  several  fires  burning  at  once. 


GOLDEN  DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         6i 

That  afternoon  a  mink  walked  leisurely  along  a  log 
at  the  edge  of  the  river,  within  twenty  feet  of  my  canoe, 
and  then  disappeared  in  the  brush.  Of  course  we  had 
no  desire  to  kill  it  at  that  season  of  the  year. 

We  also  saw  a  number  of  eagles,  both  bald  and  golden, 
and  several  ospreys  or  fish-hawks.  The  eagles  live 
largely  upon  fish,  and  we  saw  almost  none  of  them  up 
the  Finlay,  which  contains  comparatively  few  fish. 
Eagles  also  create  havoc  among  mountain-sheep  Iambs, 
and  it  is  possible  that  the  great  number  of  eagles  along 
the  Parsnip  and  its  tributaries  has  something  to  do  with 
the  fact  that  the  mountains  both  to  east  and  west  of  these 
waters  contain  almost  no  sheep.  One  big  golden  eagle 
circled  round  over  us,  uttering  harsh  cries.  As  the  bird 
was  not  over  two  hundred  feet  up,  I  took  my  little  rifle 
and  fired  two  shots  at  him  on  the  wing.  The  first  missed, 
but  the  second  cut  several  feathers  out  of  him,  and  he 
darted  down  in  such  a  way  that  for  a  moment  we  all 
three  thought  that  he  was  done  for.  However,  he  was 
evidently  more  astonished  than  hurt — if  he  was  really 
hurt  at  all — and  he  recovered  himself  and  made  off,  fly- 
ing strong. 

That  afternoon  we  came  to  some  magnificent  fishing- 
places,  and  I  caught  in  a  short  time  some  big  Dollies,  to 
say  nothing  of  several  unwelcome  squawfish.  Some  idea 
of  the  voracity  of  the  Dollies  may  be  inferred  from  the 
fact  that  one  of  those  I  caught  had  partly  swallowed  a 
six  or  eight  inch  sucker,  head  first;  the  head  was  partly 
digested,  but  the  tail  still  stuck  an  inch  or  two  out  of 
the  cannibal's  mouth.     I   stopped  when   the  fish  were 


62  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

still  biting  freely,  for  I  take  no  pleasure  in  catching  any- 
thing merely  to  let  it  rot  on  the  ground.  On  northern 
Georgian  Bay  I  have  seen  strings  of  thirty  or  more  big 
bass  that  had  been  caught  and  then  thrown  upon  the 
bank,  where  they  lay  poisoning  the  air  with  their  dis- 
agreeable effluvia.  A  fisherman  guilty  of  such  an  act  is 
nothing  but  a  hog,  and  deserves  the  contempt  of  all  real 
sportsmen.  That  night  we  made  big  inroads  upon  the 
fish  caught  that  day  and  left  the  rest,  perhaps  nearly  a 
dozen,  nicely  cleaned,  in  the  bow  of  one  of  the  canoes. 
While  we  slept  a  crafty  mink — we  found  his  tracks  in 
the  soft  mud  of  the  shore — stole  them,  every  one,  and 
carried  them  off  to  some  cache  of  his  own,  to  be  eaten  at 
leisure.  Being  thus  rudely  deprived  of  all  the  fish  we 
had,  I  was  afforded  an  excellent  excuse  for  catching  more 
next  day.     Thus  is  abnegation  rewarded  ! 

That  same  night  the  coyotes  howled  horribly  and, 
hearing  them,  I  had  little  doubt  that  many  a  tenderfoot 
would  have  shivered  even  in  his  tent  and  under  his 
blankets.  I  say  coyotes — plural — but  knowing  the  abil- 
ity of  one  of  these  pesky  beasts  to  create  pandemonium, 
I  would  not  take  oath  that  there  was  really  more  than 
one. 

The  traveller  comes  upon  the  tracks  of  these  animals 
in  many  parts  of  British  Columbia,  but  he  rarely  sees 
the  animals  themselves.  I  followed  canis  latrans  along 
the  Eraser  River  and  down  the  Crooked,  Pack,  and  Par- 
snip, up  the  Finlay  and  Quadacha,  and  down  the  Finlay 
again,  but  I  never  actually  saw  him  until  far  down  Peace 
River,  and  then  from  the  deck  of  a  gasolene-boat.     They 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         63 

are  not  wholly  flesh-eaters.  In  the  berry  season  their 
droppings  show  that  they  devour  great  quantities  of 
blueberries  and  huckleberries.  In  the  matter  of  living 
creatures  they  must  catch  mice,  rabbits,  and  other  small 
prey  chiefly,  for  in  all  my  wanderings  I  did  not  find  a 
place  where  they  had  killed  anything  large  enough  to 
leave  signs  of  a  struggle.  I  several  times  saw  where  they 
had  lain  in  wait  for  a  beaver,  but  flat-tail  appeared  to 
have  been  too  sharp  for  them. 

On  the  day  after  Guest  joined  us  we  passed  Teapot 
Mountain,  and  then  for  about  half  a  dozen  miles  our 
stream  waltzed  along  very  swiftly  over  a  succession  of 
shallow  rapids,  and  to  me  this  was  one  of  the  most 
attractive  stretches  of  the  river.  The  water  was  per- 
fectly clear,  the  gravel  bottom  of  itself  was  a  thing  of 
beauty  and  a  joy,  and  if  there  is  any  means  of  locomo- 
tion more  agreeable  than  riding  down  one  of  those  rapids 
over  that  glistening  bottom,  I  have  never  experienced  it. 

Here  and  everywhere  else  along  the  Crooked  I  was 
repeatedly  struck  with  the  great  abundance  of  fish. 
Dollies  and  rainbows  we  generally  saw  in  swift  water, 
but  every  quiet  pool  was  full  of  "suckers"  or  "carp,'* 
many  of  them  big  fish  of  several  pounds'  weight.  They 
swam  leisurely  along  in  vast  schools,  and  in  places  liter- 
ally hid  the  bottom.  I  doubt  not  that  with  a  pound  of 
dynamite  one  could  have  killed  a  wagon-load. 

Farther  on  the  stream  widens  out  and  winds  for  miles 
through  a  vast  willow  flat.  The  current  here  was  prac- 
tically dead,  and  in  many  places  the  water  was  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet  deep.     The  stream  then  flows  into  Davie 


64    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Lake,  a  body  of  water  five  or  six  miles  long  and  in  places 
two  or  three  miles  wide. 

I  saw  some  big  Dollies  at  the  inlet  of  the  lake,  but 
failed  to  catch  any  of  them,  though  I  picked  up  a  couple 
of  rainbows  in  trolling  to  a  small  island  on  which  we 
had  lunch.  As  I  had  already  caught  a  goodly  number 
of  Dollies  earlier  in  the  day,  we  again  had  an  abundant 
supply,  despite  the  mink's  raid.  There  were  a  number 
of  ospreys  about  this  lake,  and  we  witnessed  several 
magnificent,  splashing  dives,  from  which  the  bird  almost 
invariably  rose  with  a  fish.  I  have  never  ceased  to  won- 
der how  these  birds,  flying  high  in  the  air,  can  pick  out 
a  fish  and  so  time  their  stoop  as  to  strike  it  with  such 
certainty. 

Toward  the  northern  end  of  Davie  Lake  there  is  a 
narrows,  and  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  on  the  right-hand  side 
we  saw  a  deserted  cabin  and  the  lonely  grave  of  a  young 
trapper  named  Allen  Harvey,  who  in  1913  accidentally 
cut  his  knee  with  an  axe  and  died  soon  after. 

Some  miles  below  Davie  Lake  the  river  widens  into 
a  dead  slough  that  is  sometimes  known  as  Long  Lake. 
In  this  section  of  the  river  a  particularly  broad  expanse 
is  called  Red  Rock  Lake,  from  an  immense  red  boulder. 
There  were  a  few  geese  near  the  entrance  to  Red  Rock 
Lake,  but  they  were  too  wild  to  permit  us  to  get  close 
enough  for  successful  shooting.  Farther  on  we  disturbed 
a  large  flock  of  grebes,  and  we  also  saw  a  loon  or  two, 
and  heard  several  more,  while  bullbats  were  almost  con- 
tinually flying  overhead,  uttering  their  short,  throaty 
roar.     Shallow  riffles  were  now  a  thing  of  the  past  on  the 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON   CROOKED   RIVER         65 

Crooked,  and  from  Davie  Lake  onward  the  river  would 
be  navigable  by  boats  of  considerable  size. 

The  country  from  Davie  Lake  to  McLeod  Lake  is 
generally  more  broken  and  is,  in  places,  heavily  timbered, 
for  the  most  part  with  spruce,  but  with  some  small  birch 
and  poplar  and  a  little  fir,  the  last-mentioned  tree,  it  is 
said,  not  being  found  north  of  Fort  McLeod.  The  spruce 
is  generally  larger  than  that  about  Summit  Lake.  Esti- 
mates have  it  that  the  timber  about  Davie  Lake  would 
run  thirty  thousand  feet  to  the  acre. 

Realizing  that  this  timber  will  become  valuable  when 
a  railroad  is  built  through  the  country,  a  great  lumber 
company  bought  up  a  vast  stretch  of  it.  As  I  under- 
stand it,  the  tract  was  not  bought  as  timber-land,  but 
as  low-grade  land  at  a  cheap  price.  Before  making  the 
purchase  the  lumber  people  sent  in  a  party  of  "cruisers" 
who  sought  out  one  of  the  few  grassy  flats  in  the  whole 
region  and  took  pictures  of  themselves:  first,  standing 
in  the  grass;  second,  kneeling  in  the  grass,  and,  third, 
sitting  in  the  grass;  the  object  being  to  have  evidence 
that  the  tract  was  not  valuable  timber-land !  There 
must  have  been  collusion  somewhere,  but,  if  so,  the 
guilty  officials  had  these  prairie  pictures  to  use  in  their 
defense. 

One  heard  a  great  many  stories  of  this  sort  in  British 
Columbia,  but  whether  they  were  true  or  not  I  shall  not 
undertake  to  say.  If  half  of  them  had  a  basis  in  fact, 
undoubtedly  there  was  as  much  graft  in  British  Colum- 
bia as  in  any  of  our  own  States.  For  years  it  has  rather 
amused  me  to  see  how  Canadians  have  lifted  pious  hands 


66    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

to  heaven  and,  with  a  hoHer-than-thou  attitude,  have 
returned  thanks  that  their  pubHc  affairs  were  not  con- 
ducted on  the  same  low  plane  as  in  the  States.  Person- 
ally I  have  long  had  a  feeling  that  if  they  would  only 
turn  the  search-light  on  some  of  their  public  transactions 
they  would  discover  things  that  would  jar  their  self- 
complacency.  Recent  unpleasant  disclosures  in  Mani- 
toba and  elsewhere  tend  to  bear  out  this  theory. 

When  I  reached  British  Columbia  I  found  the  prov- 
ince in  the  throes  of  a  provincial  election.  Three  big 
questions  were  being  fought  out:  (i)  Should  the  existing 
Conservative  government  be  retained  in  power .?  (2) 
Should  the  province  concede  "votes  for  women".?  (3) 
Should  the  province  **go  dry".'*  As  British  Columbia 
had  long  been  overwhelmingly  Conservative,  the  Con- 
servatives expressed  great  confidence  in  their  ability  to 
retain  control,  but  one  caught  sight  now  and  then  of 
straws  blowing  about  in  the  political  wind  that  seemed 
to  indicate  that  a  change  was  impending.  In  the  back- 
woods the  suffrage  issue  did  not  seem  to  arouse  much 
interest,  but  there  was  much  talk  about  the  prohibition 
issue. 

The  few  votes  about  Fort  McLeod,  Finlay  Forks, 
Hudson's  Hope,  and  farther  down  Peace  River  were  con- 
sidered a  prize  worth  striving  for.  These  places  are  all 
included  in  the  same  electoral  district  as  Prince  George. 
The  Conservative  candidate  had  deemed  it  worth  his 
while  to  visit  in  person  the  country  we  were  passing 
through.  His  tour  had  been  a  de  luxe  affair.  Among 
the  luxuries  carried  along  were  a  detachable  motor,  or 


GOLDEN    DAYS  ON   CROOKED   RIVER         67 

"kicker,"  and  a  great  abundance  of  liquid  refreshments. 
My  man  Lavoie  had  been  engaged  at  Finlay  Forks  for 
the  rest  of  the  trip,  and  had  returned  with  the  party  by 
way  of  Peace  River  Crossing  and  Edmonton.  It  was 
evident  from  his  account  of  the  tour  that  he  had  been 
rather  overwhelmed  by  the  lavish  magnificence  with 
which  the  great  man  travelled;  in  fact,  he  was  somewhat 
spoiled  for  an  ordinary  hard  journey  with  a  plain  civilian. 

Toward  noon  of  the  fourth  day  from  Summit  Lake, 
well  below  the  five-mile  expanse  of  water  called  Kerry 
Lake,  we  came  upon  a  Peterborough  canoe  tied  to  the 
right-hand  bank  and  bearing  on  its  bow  the  words, 
*'B.  C.  Forest  Service."  A  shout  from  us  brought  a  be- 
whiskered  man  carrying  a  tin  pail  out  of  the  woods,  and 
he  was  introduced  as  Mr.  Boursen,  the  forest  ranger  be- 
tween Summit  Lake  and  Fort  McLeod.  He  had  landed 
to  pick  blueberries  and  to  cook  lunch,  and  we  also 
stopped  for  lunch.  Boursen  is  an  old  miner  and  pros- 
pector, having  worked  in  many  camps,  including  the 
famous  Treadwell  mine  and  around  Barkerville.  In  the 
short  hour  we  spent  together  he  told  us  a  number  of 
good  stories  of  his  experiences,  and  we  repaid  him  with 
the  latest  political  and  war  news.  He  was  the  first  per- 
son we  had  met  since  leaving  Summit  Lake. 

The  big  task  for  the  remainder  of  that  day  was  to 
cross  McLeod  Lake,  the  head  of  which  we  reached  early 
that  afternoon.  As  we  swept  out  of  the  inlet  I  saw 
before  me  the  largest  expanse  of  water  I  had  yet  beheld. 
The  lake  is  about  fourteen  miles  long  by  one  or  two 
broad  in  the  widest  place,  but  only  part  of  it  is  visible 


68  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

from  either  end,  as  there  is  a  narrow  constriction  near 
the  centre,  and  the  channel  there  is  partly  filled  by  an 
island.  The  lake  is  surrounded  by  spruce-covered  hills, 
rising  shelf  on  shelf,  and  in  every  way  it  is  a  fine  body 
of  water. 

We  had  been  uneasy  lest  when  we  should  reach  it  we 
should  find  it  too  rough  for  our  heavily  loaded  canoe, 
but  we  were  lucky  enough  to  get  a  fair  wind  that  helped 
us  greatly  on  what  would  otherwise  have  been  a  very 
long  and  tiresome  pull,  while  it  did  not  kick  up  the  water 
enough  to  endanger  our  craft.  Guest  stopped  near  the 
entrance  in  order  to  rig  up  a  sail,  but  we  were  afraid  to 
make  any  such  venture  with  our  canoe  and  so  kept  on 
paddling. 

Just  beyond  the  Narrows  we  met  two  trappers,  a 
certain  "Dutchy"  and  "Callis"  Bell,  on  their  way  to 
Summit  Lake  and  Prince  George.  Each  had  a  crude 
boat  and  a  dog,  and  each  was  as  shaggy  an  individual 
as  one  is  likely  to  meet,  even  in  British  Columbia.  Both 
boats  were  heavy,  the  wind  was  dead  against  them,  and 
the  two  men  were  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  rest  on  their 
paddles  and  talk.  They  had  been  trolling  across  the 
lake,  but  they  told  us  in  unprintable  language  that  the 
infernal  fish  were  not  biting  and  that  they  had  caught 
only  one.  Their  ill  success  was  evidently  due  to  poor 
tackle,  for  in  fishing  over  merely  a  part  of  the  same 
stretch  I  was  lucky  enough  to  haul  in  eight  fine  rainbows. 
We  did  not  tarry  long  with  our  new  acquaintances  but 
paddled  on  down  the  lake,  while  they  kept  on  their  way 
up  it.     As  the  wind  blew  from  them  to  us  we  could  hear 


GOLDEN   DAYS  ON  CROOKED   RIVER         69 

them  for  a  long  time  discussing  with  great  freedom  our 
appearance,  outfit,  and  probable  errand. 

It  took  Guest  longer  to  rig  his  sail  than  he  had  ex- 
pected, and  after  it  was  done  it  did  not  work  so  well  as 
he  had  hoped,   partly  because   the  wind  grew  lighter. 
We  were  almost  at  the  farther  end  of  our  long  pull  before 
we  saw  his  tiny  bit  of  canvas  pass  through  the  Narrows. 
In  order  to  give  him  a  chance  to  catch  up  we  landed  on 
a  shelving  shore  and  had  supper  ready  by  the  time  he 
arrived.     It  was  a  pleasant  spot,  and  in  wandering  along 
the  boulder-covered  beach  I  discovered  some  red  berries 
on  some  trailing  vines— evidently  a  variety  of  dewberry. 
Their  flavor  was  beyond  praise,  but  as  they  were  far 
from  numerous  and  were  tiny  as  BB  shot,  I  cannot  say 
that  I  got  my  fill  of  them. 

After  supper  we  paddled  on  to  Fort  McLeod,  which 
lay  just  around  a  bend  in  the  lake  shore,  and  we  camped 
that  night  on  Guest's  front  "lawn,"  a  mile  or  so  down 
Pack  River. 


CHAPTER   V 
FROM   FORT   McLEOD   TO   FINLAY   FORKS 

The  Hudson's  Bay  trading-post,  known  as  Fort 
McLeod,  stands  on  the  western  shore  of  McLeod  Lake, 
just  above  the  spot  where  the  lake  empties  into  Pack 
River.  Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  this  post  is  the  oldest 
settlement  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  north  of  New 
Mexico  and  California.  It  was  established  by  James 
McDougall,  acting  for  the  Northwest  Trading  Company, 
in  1805,  and  was  taken  over  by  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany when  the  two  companies  grew  tired  of  fighting  each 
other  and  consolidated.  At  present  it  consists  merely 
of  two  or  three  log  buildings  belonging  to  the  Company 
and  of  the  Indian  village.  The  residence  cabin  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  neat  fence,  and  in  front  of  the  store  there 
stands  the  usual  flagpole.  There  is  a  garden  in  which 
some  fine  vegetables  were  growing.  The  man  in  charge 
of  the  post  was  an  Englishman  recently  come  with  his 
family  from  Victoria. 

The  Indians  belong  to  the  Sikanni  tribe.  In  view  of 
the  fact  that  they  have  been  under  white  influence  for 
more  than  a  century,  one  might  reasonably  suppose  that 
they  would  have  made  considerable  progress  in  the  arts 
of  civilization,  but  they  still  prefer  to  lead  a  primitive 
existence.  Though  they  are  fond  of  potatoes  and  other 
products  of  the  soil — when  they  can  beg  them  of  white 

people — they  have  made  little  eff^ort  to  raise  these  de- 

70 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD  TO  FINLAY   FORKS     71 

sirable  articles  themselves.  For  the  most  part  they  are 
still  meat-eaters  and  hunt  and  fish  the  year  round.  Big 
game  is  now  scarce  around  the  lake,  but  they  still  find 
an  abundance  on  the  headwaters  of  the  Parsnip  and  in 
the  Rockies  to  the  eastward. 

They  kill  a  considerable  number  of  bears  each  year, 
some  of  them  in  midwinter  when  the  animals  are  hiber- 
nating. Through  long  acquaintance  with  the  country 
they  know  many  holes  and  caves  into  which  the  animals 
are  likely  to  retire  for  their  winter  sleep,  and  by  visiting 
such  places  they  find  some  bears. 

Disease  and  the  fact  that  the  squaws  are  adepts  in 
controlling  the  birth-rate  has  gradually  reduced  the 
number  of  the  McLeod  Indians  until  there  are  less  than 
a  hundred  of  all  ages  and  sexes.  Most  of  them  profess 
to  be  devout  Christians,  and  the  chief  building  of  the 
village  is  a  church,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  heavy  bell 
that  was  brought  in  from  the  outside  world  a  few  years 
ago  at  the  cost  of  much  money  and  labor.  The  ringing 
tones  of  this  much-talked-of  importation  did  not  unfor- 
tunately suflfice  to  keep  evil  away,  and  a  terrible  scandal 
arose  over  the  undue  intimacy  of  the  priest  with  a  num- 
ber of  the  women.  The  church  authorities  outside  un- 
frocked the  priest,  but  the  effects  of  his  evil  example 
abide  and  give  ground  for  the  sneers  of  those  who  remain 
pagans. 

The  Indian  men  are  said  to  keep  a  close  watch  over 
their  klooches,  or  squaws,  when  white  men  are  around, 
but  among  themselves  the  sexual  relations  of  these 
McLeod  Indians  are  very  loose.     Almost  without  excep- 


72  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

tion  both  bucks  and  squaws  appear  to  be  filthy  both 
morally  and  physically.  I  did  not  hear  a  single  good 
word  said  in  their  behalf,  and  a  son  of  the  factor,  a  lad 
of  perhaps  fourteen,  confided  to  me  that  there  was  not 
**a  decent  one  in  the  lot."  Mackenzie  relates  that  when 
he  passed  through  this  region,  the  ancestors  of  these  In- 
dians "most  hospitably  resigned  their  beds  and  the 
partners  of  them  to  the  solicitations  of  my  young  men." 
As  these  natives  had  never  before  seen  white  men,  their 
liberal  view  in  this  matter  cannot  be  attributed  to  de- 
moralizing white  influence. 

The  McLeod  Indians  themselves  seem  to  realize  that 
they  are  contemptible,  and  they  have  a  poor  opinion  of 
any  one  who  descends  to  their  level.  Not  long  before  a 
young  trapper  from  North  Carolina  had  formally  mar- 
ried one  of  the  young  squaws,  incurring  thereby  the 
scorn  of  both  whites  and  reds.  At  the  time  we  were 
there  almost  all  the  Indians  had  gone  off^  into  the  moun- 
tains to  shoot  sifldeurs,  or  whistlers,  a  sort  of  ground-hog 
whose  greasy  meat  is  much  esteemed  by  the  Indians  and 
from  whose  hide  they  make  warm  robes.  The  white 
squaw-man  accompanied  them,  whereupon  a  buck  scorn- 
fully exclaimed: 

"First  white  man  ground-hoggin'!" 

"When  I  began  trading,"  Guest  told  us,  "I  took  pity 
on  some  of  the  old  people,  they  were  so  poor  and  wretched, 
and  I  would  give  them  more  goods  for  their  furs  than  I 
would  to  the  younger,  husky  ones.  I  soon  found  that  I 
wasn't  trading  with  anybody  but  old  people,  so  I  had  to 
drop  the  practice  and  treat  all  alike." 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD    10   FINLAY   FORKS     73 

With  the  exception  of  Guest's  place  a  little  below  it, 
Fort  McLeod  is  the  only  settlement  between  Summit 
Lake  and  Finlay  Forks,  a  distance  of  over  two  hundred 
miles.     There  are  a  few  trappers'  cabins  at  other  points, 
but  none  of  these  are  inhabited  all  the  year  round.     Talk 
of  a  railroad  from  Prince  George  through  the  Parsnip 
country  and  thence  to  Peace  River  beyond  the  mountains 
caused  a  number  of  men  to  locate  pre-emptions  about 
the  foot  of  McLeod  Lake,  but  most  of  them  grew  weary 
of  waiting  and  either  enlisted  or  set  out  for  regions  where 
real  estate  was  in  greater  demand.     At  present  Guest  is 
the  only  competitor  of  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in  this 
region.     He  gave  an  amusing  account  of  the  pious  hor- 
ror with  which  the  H.  B.  C.'s  men  seemed  to  regard  any 
effort  to  take  trade  away  from  that  ancient  and  time- 
honored  institution— "  Here  before  Christ." 

Guest's  place  is  on  the  east  bank  of  Pack  River,  a 
mile  or  so  below  the  lake.  He  is  aided  in  his  activities 
by  a  husky  young  Swede,  and  at  the  cabin  that  night 
there  were  also  a  forest  ranger  and  a  couple  of  trappers 
who  were  on  their  way  with  their  grub  supply  to  their 
winter  camping-ground  on  the  upper  Parsnip.  We  were 
greeted  with  the  usual  questions  about  provincial  politics 
and  the  war.  The  trappers  possessed  the  distinction  of 
owning  the  finest  dugout  we  saw  on  the  whole  trip.  We 
did  not  measure  it,  but  it  is  certainly  fully  forty  feet 
long,  yet  so  well  hewed  out  as  to  be  both  shapely  and 

light. 

The  dugout  is  the  commonest  craft  on  these  waters, 
and  they  have  some   merits,  being  good,   for  example, 


74    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

for  poling  up-stream.  It  is  customary  to  give  them 
greater  beam  by  spreading  the  sides  and  putting  in 
thwarts.  Ivor's  Swede  had  recently  grown  dissatisfied 
with  the  width  of  one  that  lay  at  the  landing,  and 
proceeded  to  spread  it  so  much  that  it  split  from  end 
to  end ! 

It  was  with  real  regret  that  we  said  good-by  to 
Guest  and  set  out  down  Pack  River  on  the  next  stage 
of  our  journey.  He  had  been  a  most  pleasant  com- 
panion, and  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  country  had 
rendered  him  especially  valuable  to  us.  We  did  not, 
however,  travel  on  alone,  as  the  fire  ranger  elected  to 
make  his  return  patrol  to  Finlay  Forks  with  us. 

This  gentleman,  who  bears  the  not  uncommon  name 
of  Smith,  is  a  native  of  Toledo,  Ohio,  and  is  some  forty 
years  old.  Earlier  in  his  career  he  had  been  a  semi- 
professional  baseball  player,  and  as  I  have  always  been 
an  enthusiast  for  the  game,  both  as  a  player  and  "fan," 
we  quickly  found  ourselves  on  common  ground.  As  we 
floated  down-stream,  he  regaled  us  with  some  of  his 
experiences  and  thereby  gave  me  an  opportunity  to 
boast  of  one  of  the  few  things  in  my  life  in  which  I  can 
be  said  to  be  lucky:  namely,  that  I  witnessed  the  seventh 
game  of  a  world  series  (Detroit  vs.  Pittsburgh  in  1909), 
that  I  saw  a  no-hit-no-get-to-first-base  game  (Addie  Joss 
of  Cleveland  against  the  Chicago  White  Sox,  with  Walsh 
pitching  for  Chicago),  and  that,  mirabile  dictu,  I  beheld 
the  only  triple  play  unassisted  ever  made  in  the  big 
leagues. 

Smith  was  not  the  regular  ranger,  but  he  was  work- 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD  TO  FINLAY  FORKS     75 

ing  at  the  Forks  with  a  survey  party  and  had  been  sent 
on  this  patrol  as  a  substitute.  Ahhough  he  had  been 
in  the  West  for  several  years  and  had  even  made  a  trip 
to  the  Klondike,  he  had  usually  followed  the  beaten  path 
and  was  still  something  of  a  tenderfoot,  both  as  a  woods- 
man and  canoeman.  Of  the  last  fact  we  had  rather 
amusing  proof  from  his  willingness  to  float  down  the 
river  any  old  place,  caring  little  for  the  channel  and 
showing  no  ability  to  read  water;  also  we  had  proof 
when  we  came  to  the  Cross  Rapids,  a  succession  of  shal- 
low riffles  a  few  miles  below  our  starting-place.  In  order 
to  have  enough  water  to  float  a  canoe  it  was  necessary 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  thing  to  make  a  traverse  in 
shallow  swift  water  full  of  shoals  and  rocks.  Thanks  to 
Joe's  skilful  management,  we  were  able  to  pass  through 
with  ease,  but  Smith,  in  trying  to  make  the  traverse, 
ran  aground,  and  was  forced  ingloriously  to  get  out  and 
wade  his  canoe  round  the  rocks  and  shoals. 

We  found  this  section  of  the  Pack  to  be  shallow  and 
fairly  swift,  with  many  riffles  and  numerous  log-jams 
and  "sweepers,"  the  last  being  trees  that  have  been 
undermined  and  have  fallen  into  the  river  with  their 
roots  remaining  attached  to  the  shore— a  rather  danger- 
ous combination  for  inexperienced  men.  Below  Tootyah 
Lake,  a  body  of  water  about  two  miles  long  by  as  many 
broad,  the  river  is  deeper  and  quieter.  The  timber 
along  the  banks  consists  largely  of  tall  cottonwoods,  out 
of  which  the  dugout  canoes  are  fashioned.  After  the 
monotony  of  dark-green  spruce  forests,  a  grove  of  these 
trees,  with  their  tall  stems  often  limbless  for  sixty  feet, 


76  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

their    grayish-white    bark,    and    trembUng,    light-green 
foHage,  form  a  novel  and  welcome  sight. 

At  a  deserted  cabin  on  the  Pack  we  stopped  a  few 
minutes  and  dug  a  supply  of  new  potatoes,  rather  small 
but  excellent  eating,  and  we  also  pulled  some  turnips 
for  ''greens."  About  noon  we  passed  out  of  the  Pack 
into  the  Parsnip,  a  much  larger,  raw-looking  stream, 
whose  greenish  water,  coming  from  the  snow  and  ice  in 
the  main  chain  of  the  Rockies,  contrasted  with  the 
clearer,  somewhat  brownish  swamp  water  of  the  Pack. 
The  two  rivers  mingle  quietly  between  banks  of  gravel, 
perhaps  a  dozen  feet  high,  back  of  which  lie  flats  over- 
grown in  places  with  large  cottonwood-trees.  It  is  here- 
abouts that  the  McLeod  Indians  make  most  of  their 
canoes.  Below  the  mouth  of  the  Pack,  on  the  opposite 
side,  there  rises  a  cut  bank,  of  which  more  hereafter. 

We  were  once  more  in  sight  of  mountains.  Looking 
eastward  we  caught  glimpses  of  the  western  range  of  the 
Rockies,  while  to  westward  lay  another  range,  farther 
distant  but  containing  some  peaks  tall  enough  to  bear 
perpetual  snow.  After  several  days  of  travel  through  a 
comparatively  flat  country  it  gave  one  a  feeling  of  ex- 
hilaration to  gaze  at  these  bold  ranges  rising  up  into  the 
blue,  and  to  speculate  as  to  what  game  could  be  found 
on  their  upper  slopes. 

The  tactics  of  a  flock  of  ducks  that  afternoon  fur- 
nished us  much  amusement.  There  were  fifteen  or 
twenty  of  them,  and  we  never  got  near  enough  to  them 
to  determine  their  species.  Only  one — probably  the 
mother— appeared  able  to  fly,  but  what  the  rest  lacked 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD  TO  FINLAY   FORKS     77 

in  wing  feathers  they  made  up  by  their  fleetness  in 
swimming.  Whenever  we  drew  close  enough  for  them 
to  think  themselves  in  danger,  they  set  both  feet  and 
wings  to  work  and  went  splashing  along  like  a  hydro- 
plane that  is  trying  to  rise  in  the  air.  We  drove  them 
ahead  of  us  thus  for  fully  a  dozen  miles,  but  we  never 
succeeded  in  catching  them  up  or  wearing  them  out. 
When  we  camped  we  saw  them  take  advantage  of  the 
twilight  to  sneak  back  past  us  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river. 

We  lunched  next  day  just  above  the  mouth  of  Nation 
River.  The  name  of  this  river  and  the  sight  of  a  high 
cut  bank  directly  opposite  its  mouth  recalled  a  grim 
experience  that  a  score  of  years  before  befell  Warburton 
Pike.  Pike,  as  those  acquainted  with  the  literature  of 
sport  and  travel  in  the  far  Northwest  are  aware,  made  a 
long  and  hazardous  trip  to  the  Barren  Grounds,  the  land 
of  the  caribou  and  musk-ox,  and  on  his  way  back  to 
civilization  ascended  Peace  River,  intending  to  go  out 
by  way  of  Fort  McLeod  and  the  Fraser  River.  He 
reached  Hudson's  Hope  in  November  and  made  the 
carry  round  the  big  canyon  to  a  cabin  that  stood  at  the 
western  end.  It  had  been  his  intention  to  wait  here  for 
the  freeze-up  and  then  to  make  his  journey  over  the 
ice,  but  the  fall  was  late,  the  weather  fine,  and  on  the 
26th  of  November  he  took  a  canoe  and  endeavored  to 
proceed  by  water.  With  him  went  a  man  named  Murdo, 
who  had  been  with  him  for  some  time,  a  worthless  white 
man  named  John,  who  had  attached  himself  to  the  party 
in  order  to  get  out  of  the  country,  a  half-breed  named 


78  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

Charlie  from  Quesnel,  and  an  Indian  named  Pat  from 
Eraser  Lake.  Pat  and  Charlie  had  recently  come  down 
the  river  from  the  McLeod  country,  and  John  also  had 
been  over  the  route  a  few  years  before,  but  to  Pike  and 
Murdo  the  region  was  entirely  new. 

Paddling,  poling,  and  tracking,  they  made  fair  prog- 
ress for  a  time,  but  a  severe  cold  wave  descended  and 
soon  filled  the  river  with  floating  ice.  Braving  great 
danger,  they  managed  in  a  week's  time  to  pole  and  track 
their  boat  to  the  Finlay  Rapids,  a  little  below  the  Forks, 
but  they  found  the  river  at  the  Forks  entirely  blocked, 
so  they  had  to  abandon  their  boat  and  proceed  up  the 
Parsnip  on  foot.  In  order  to  travel  as  light  as  possible 
they  cached  their  guns  and  other  stufi^,  including  about 
thirty  pounds  of  flour,  intending  to  send  back  a  dog  team 
from  McLeod  after  them. 

For  days  they  floundered  through  deep  snow  and, 
finally,  hungry  and  well-nigh  exhausted,  they  reached  a 
river  that  flowed  into  the  Parsnip  from  the  west.  There 
was  a  high  cut  bank  opposite  the  mouth,  and  both 
Charlie  and  Pat  declared  the  stream  was  Pack  River. 
They  followed  it  for  many  miles  and  finally  came  to  a 
swift  rapid  that  convinced  them  it  could  not  be  Pack 
River,  and  that  they  were  lost.  Afraid  to  try  longer 
to  reach  the  fort,  they  turned  back  toward  Hudson's 
Hope.  For  ten  days  they  were  without  food,  except  a 
few  scraps  and  some  bits  of  moose  hide,  but  finally,  in  a 
starving  condition,  they  reached  the  Forks  and  found 
the  flour  safe.     However,  it  was  a  bagatelle  among  five 


FROM   FORT   McLEOD  TO   FINLAY   FORKS     79 

hungry  men,  who  still  had  ninety  miles  of  travel  through 
a  mountain  wilderness  before  them.  They  were  fre- 
quently delayed  by  blizzards,  and  the  only  game  they 
were  able  to  kill  during  the  whole  of  their  starving  time 
was  one  grouse  and  a  mouse,  both  of  which  they  boiled 
with  their  flour.  Charlie  and  Pat  surreptitiously  ate 
some  of  the  flour  that  Pike  was  holding  in  reserve,  and 
Pike  came  near  shooting  them  for  doing  so.  So  great 
was  their  sufi^ering  that  Pike  later  stated  that  he  mar- 
velled that  the  party  had  not  resorted  to  cannibalism. 
A  month  after  leaving  the  canyon,  half-blind,  frost- 
bitten, reduced  almost  to  skeletons,  they  at  last  dragged 
themselves  back  to  the  western  end  of  the  canyon,  and 
there  found  food. 

Such  is  the  story  as  Pike  tells  it.  Charlie,  the  half- 
breed,  had  a  different  version.  To  Fox,  the  factor  at 
Fort  Grahame,  he  declared  that  Pike  was  to  blame  for 
the  misfortune,  that  nothing  the  men  could  do  could 
please  him,  that  they  decided  not  to  attempt  to  guide 
him,  with  the  result  that  they  went  up  Nation  River. 
Personally  I  do  not  believe  this  story;  I  have  no  doubt 
it  was  concocted  in  an  effort  to  cover  up  the  bad  beha- 
vior of  Charlie  and  Pat.  Surely,  if  the  precious  pair 
really  knew  the  route  to  McLeod,  they  would  not  have 
gone  up  Nation  River  and  nearly  starved  to  death  merely 
to  spite  their  employer.  Charlie  had  begun  his  trip 
that  season  by  stealing  fifty  dollars  from  his  mother  in 
Quesnelle;  in  later  years  he  bore  a  most  unsavory  repu- 
tation.    He  killed  his  squaw  and  for  a  long  time  remained 


8o    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

in  hiding  for  fear  of  punishment.  He  was  just  the  worth- 
less sort  of  fellow  to  steal  flour  from  starving  comrades 
and  lie  about  the  trip  afterward. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  Pike's  party  made  their  mistake. 
Owing  to  the  bad  going  they  had  travelled  days  enough 
to  have  reached  the  Pack,  and  when  they  found  the 
mouth  of  a  river  flowing  in  from  the  west,  with  a  cut 
bank  opposite,  Pat  and  Charlie  jumped  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  was  the  Pack.  In  reality,  as  I  mentioned 
above,  the  cut  bank  near  the  mouth  of  the  Pack  is  not 
exactly  opposite  but  some  distance  below. 

Along  this  stretch  of  Parsnip  River  there  are  many 
steep  gravel  banks,  some  of  them  hundreds  of  feet  high. 
The  water  and  wind  have  carved  many  of  them  into  fan- 
tastic forms.  Not  infrequently  one  sees  portrayed  on 
them  the  towers  and  battlements  of  mediaeval  fortresses, 
and  the  likeness  is  startlingly  exact.  When  we  passed 
one  of  the  tallest,  a  picture  of  which  is  shown,  a  high 
wind  was  blowing,  and  the  sand  and  gravel  were  being 
constantly  loosened,  causing  great  clouds  of  dust  to  rise 
and  dislodging  stones  and  even  big  boulders  that  came 
bounding  down  the  almost  perpendicular  slope  in  veri- 
table showers.  So  powerful  is  the  action  of  the  wind  on 
such  cliffs  that  it  even  undermines  big  forest  trees  grow- 
ing on  the  top. 

In  places,  instead  of  coarse  gravel,  the  cliffs  were 
composed  of  stratified  sand  or  silt,  and  such  places  were 
often  honeycombed  with  thousands  of  holes  dug  by  bank 
swallows  (Riparia  riparia,  Linn.).  One  observes  the 
same  phenomenon  along  the  Eraser  and  up  the  Finlay; 


Cut  bank  on  Parsnip  River. 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD  TO   FINLAY   FORKS     8i 

in  the  course  of  the  trip  we  saw  tens  of  thousands  of 
such  holes.  The  nesting-season  was,  however,  past. 
Where  high  banks  are  not  available  the  birds  not  infre- 
quently tunnel  into  low  ones,  and  the  kingfishers,  of 
which  there  are  many  along  these  streams,  do  likewise. 
It  is  not  uncommon  to  see  the  large  tunnel  dug  by  a 
pair  of  kingfishers  surrounded  by  smaller  tunnels  made 
by  swallows. 

The  day  we  passed  the  largest  of  these  cut  banks  on 
the  Parsnip,  Smith  pointed  out  a  spot  at  which  he  had 
camped  on  the  way  up,  and  he  related  a  harrowing  ex- 
perience that  befell  him  there.  He  had  crept  into  his 
little  mosquito-proof  tent  for  the  night,  had  smoked  a 
final  pipe,  and  was  dozing  off  when  out  in  the  thick  bush 
under  the  dark  trees  some  animal  began  to  make  a  noise. 

"It  went  stamp!  stamp!"  said  Smith,  and  he  illus- 
trated by  striking  his  thigh.  "The  sound  was  not  very 
loud,  but  I  sat  up  in  a  hurry  and  looked  out.  The  fire 
had  died  down,  and  I  could  see  nothing,  but  again  the 
thing  went  stamp  !  stamp  !  I  didn't  know  but  that  it 
was  a  bear  or  something,  so  I  grabbed  up  my  rifle  and 
sent  two  shots  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  All  was 
still  for  a  bit,  and  I  had  about  decided  that  the  thing 
had  gone  when  again  there  came  stamp  !  stamp  !  That 
was  too  much  for  my  nerves.  I  hustled  out,  threw  some 
wood  on  the  fire,  took  my  tent  and  blankets,  and  spent 
the  rest  of  the  night  down  on  the  beach  close  to  the 
canoe." 

We  noticed  a  spruce  that  leaned  far  out  over  the  river 
at  the  place  where  the  adventure  occurred,  and  we  in- 


82    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

sisted  that  Smidty  had  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  roost- 
ing in  its  topmost  branches,  but  to  our  guying  he  merely 
repHed  by  smiHng  and  looking  wise.  The  beast  that 
scared  him  may  have  been  a  pack-rat,  possibly  a  lynx, 
but  more  probably  a  rabbit.  If  the  disturber  was  a 
lynx,  Smith  was  in  no  more  danger  than  if  it  had  been 
a  rabbit  or  a  pack-rat,  for  a  lynx  is  too  small  to  be  really 
dangerous  to  man,  and,  besides,  though  he  can  manage 
to  put  a  most  fiendish  scowl  upon  his  face,  he  can  hardly 
be  made  to  fight  even  when  caught  in  a  trap. 

Many  a  tenderfoot  has  his  nerves  severely  tried  when 
he  goes  into  these  Canadian  wilds.  In  the  sand  or 
mud  of  nearly  every  beach  he  sees  bear  tracks,  usually 
those  of  black  bears,  but  now  and  then  the  mighty  im- 
print— and  the  great  claw  marks  show  plainly — of  a 
grizzly.  There  are  big  wolf  tracks,  also,  to  say  nothing 
of  those  of  various  other  animals.  The  tenderfoot,  of 
course,  remembers  the  stories  of  his  youth,  which  gen- 
erally represent  bears  and  wolves  as  continually  on  the 
prowl,  seeking  human  beings  to  devour.  Little  wonder, 
then,  that  as  the  camp-fire  dies  down,  as  he  listens  to 
the  distant  hoot  of  the  great  owls  or  the  indescribable 
howl  of  the  coyotes,  he  shivers  in  his  blanket  and  pulls 
it  over  his  head  ! 

Really  the  danger  from  wild  animals  to  which  the 
camper  is  exposed  is  infinitesimal.  In  the  depth  of  win- 
ter in  a  wolf  country  a  hungry  pack  might  pounce  upon 
a  sleeping  man  who  had  permitted  his  fire  to  die  down, 
but  this  is  almost  the  only  conceivable  danger.  This 
region  is  too  far  north  for  cougars  or  mountain-lions — 


Reproduced  from  a  photograph  by  Ivor  Guest. 

Moose  run  down  by  Ivor  Guest  on  snow-shoes. 


FROM   FORT   McLEOD  TO   FINLAY   FORKS     83 

they  range  only  as  far  as  the  upj)er  Fraser— and  even  if 
it  were  not,  these  animals  need  be  little  dreaded,  for  they 
are  almost  as  cowardly  as  the  lynx.  In  all  the  history 
of  man's  dealing  with  American  bears  I  do  not  believe 
there  is  a  single  authentic  instance  of  a  bear  having 
pounced  on  a  sleeping  man.  Bears  now  and  then  come 
into  camp  in  search  of  something  to  eat,  or  they  may 
blunder  in  by  mistake,  but  they  do  not  come  in  to  begin 
hostilities  with  the  occupants. 

Down  somewhere  in  the  P>aser  country  Joe  Lavoie 
once  had  an  adventure  that  startled  him  a  bit,  but  left 
him  laughing  after  it  was  over. 

"I  camped  one  night,"  he  says,  "in  thick  woods 
right  on  a  game  trail.  It  was  as  black  as  ink  under  the 
trees,  and  I  had  about  gone  to  sleep  when  I  heard  some- 
thing come  walking  heavily  up  the  trail.  It  was  puffing 
and  wheezing  away,  and  I  knew  it  must  be  an  old  bear. 
As  the  wind  blew  from  him  to  me  he  did  not  smell  the 
camp  but  kept  right  on,  and  he  was  nearly  on  top  of  me 
when  I  let  drive  toward  the  sound  with  my  .45  Colt  six- 
shooter.  By  the  flash  I  saw  a  great  big,  fat,  black  bear. 
I  don't  think  I  hit  him,  but  he  went  right  over  back- 
ward, let  out  a  bawl  that  could  have  been  heard  to  the 
Arctic  Ocean,  and  dashed  back  down  that  trail,  hitting 
about  every  tree  and  windfall  in  a  mile.  I  never  saw 
nor  heard  him  again,  but  I  bet  he  kept  going  till  he  was 
all  give  out.  Of  course,  he  hadn't  meant  any  harm. 
He  just  had  business  that  took  him  along  that  trail,  and, 
not  smelling  me,  he  walked  right  into  camp." 

Below  the  Nation  we  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  at 


84  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

the  cabin  of  a  Bavarian  trapper  named  Haas,  who  in 
peace  times  had  served  in  the  German  army.  He  was 
only  one  of  several  Germans  I  met  in  the  backwoods, 
and  they  were  going  about  their  business  as  if  war  had 
never  been  dreamed  of,  while  the  Canadians  were  just 
as  friendly  to  them  as  to  anybody.  Of  course,  Canada 
has  detention-camps  into  which  she  puts  obstreperous 
alien  enemies,  but  she  permits  those  who  mind  their 
business  to  go  free.  One  of  these  Germans  told  me 
that  when  he  went  into  town  that  spring  to  get  a  new 
trapper's  license,  the  government  official  said  to  him: 

"Now,  of  course,  the  law  says  that  you  must  not, 
being  a  German,  carry  a  gun.  But,"  and  he  winked 
significantly,  ''we  shall  not  he  watching  you  when  you  are 
out  in  the  bush  /" 

We  camped  that  night  near  the  cabin  of  an  American 
trapper  named  Scott,  who  was  long  a  cowman  in  Routt 
County,  Colorado.  He  had  an  unusually  roomy  cache 
built  up  on  high  posts  and  so  arranged  as  to  be  out  of 
the  reach  not  only  of  bears  and  wolverenes  but  also  of 
rats  and  mice.  He  expressed  the  conviction  that  he 
would  pass  a  comfortable  winter,  if  he  could  only  man- 
age to  kill  a  "ripe  bear."  By  this  he  meant  a  bear  that 
was  fat  enough  to  make  lots  of  grease  for  use  as  lard. 

Scott  told  us  numerous  stories  of  his  experiences  both 
on  the  Parsnip  and  in  Colorado.  He  seemed  to  take 
special  pleasure  in  one  at  the  expense  of  a  famous  Ameri- 
can naturalist  whose  name  used  to  be  written  with  a 
hyphen  and  the  two  parts  of  which  have  been  reversed, 
the    alleged   episode   having   occurred    in    the   Colorado 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD  TO  FINLAY  FORKS     85 

Rockies.     He  also  had  a  better  story  about  two  Calgary 
tenderfeet  who  tried  to  build  a  fire  with  green  willows ! 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  region  for  a  hunting 
country?"  I  asked  him. 

"Well,"  said  he  reflectively,  "in  the  old  days  in 
Routt  County,  when  the  deer  and  antelope  and  elk  were 
bunching  up,  one  could  see  more  meat  in  a  week  than 
he  would  up  here  in  a  lifetime.  It's  not  that  there  isn't 
plenty  of  game  here.  There  are  bear  and  moose  maybe 
right  now  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  us.  If  we  could 
see  all  the  game  there  is  it  would  seem  like  a  good  deal. 
But  this  thick  forest  is  hard  to  hunt  in.  Down  in  Colo- 
rado the  country  was  more  open,  and  you  could  see  the 
game." 

A  swift  mountain-stream  comes  tumbling  into  the 
Parsnip  just  above  Scott's  cabin,  and  the  place  bears  a 
high  reputation  as  a  fishing  spot,  both  for  sapi  and  also 
for  what  are  known  as  "Arctic  trout,"  but  my  luck  was 
limited  to  a  single  sapi,  which,  however,  was  big  enough 
to  make  a  meal  for  the  three  of  us  next  morning. 

The  morning  we  left  Scott's,  Joe  saw  far  ahead  some 
animal  swimming  toward  an  island  in  the  middle  of  the 
river.  It  did  not  ride  high  enough  in  the  water  for  a 
bear,  and  looking  through  my  glasses  I  made  out  that 
it  was  a  lynx.  By  rapid  paddling  we  managed  to  get 
within  less  than  two  hundred  yards  when  the  animal 
landed  on  the  island.  He  seemed  to  be  tired  by  his 
effort  and  shambled  slowly  and  leisurely  along  with  the 
awkward,  angular  gait  that  is  typical  of  the  lynx,  but, 
suddenly  perceiving  us,  he  broke  into  a  gallop.     Picking 


86    ON  THE   HEADWATERS   OF   PEACE   RIVER 

up  my  small  ritie  I  took  a  snapshot  at  him  as  he  ran, 
but  managed  only  to  knock  up  some  gravel  at  his  feet, 
thereby  increasing  his  speed. 

On  the  final  day  on  the  Parsnip  we  passed  a  big 
gravel-bar,  the  head  of  which  had  recently  been  worked 
by  miners  using  a  ** grizzly."  The  river  was  now  more 
tortuous,  and  in  places  rugged  hills  rise  from  the  water's 
edge,  but  there  are  also  extensive  level  flats  and  rolling 
plains.  The  farther  one  goes  the  higher  loom  the  moun- 
tains both  to  west  and  east,  and  finally  one  catches 
sight  of  the  peak  of  Mount  Selwyn,  standing  sentinel-like 
over  the  gateway  of  the  Peace,  and  of  many  unnamed 
mountains — all  towering  high  enough  into  the  blue  to 
give  the  beholder  that  uplift  of  spirit  which  I,  at  least, 
always  feel  when  I  come  into  the  presence  of  giant  peaks. 

Very  little  is  known  of  the  immense  mountain-mass 
.lying  between  Pine  Pass  and  Peace  River,  and  there  are 
several  interesting  biological  questions  that  a  thorough 
investigation  of  this  region  might  throw  light  upon. 
How  far  north,  for  example,  does  the  real  bighorn  {Ovis 
canadensis)  extend  his  range  in  this  region .?  Are  there 
caribou  to  be  found  there,  and,  if  so,  of  what  species  are 
they .?  Mountain-goats  have  been  seen  on  Mount  Sel- 
wyn and  also  on  mountains  on  the  north  side  of  Peace 
River,  but  there  seems  to  be  no  authentic  record  of 
mountain-sheep  having  been  killed  there.  In  1912  Mr. 
Frederick  K.  Vreeland's  party  sought  sheep  in  the  Selwyn 
region  without  success,  but  they  did  not  extend  their 
investigations  very  far  south.  Later  they  killed  Stone's 
sheep  (Ovts  stonei)  in  the  region  of  Laurier  Pass,  and. 


FROM   FORT  McLEOD  TO  FINLAY   FORKS     87 

according  to  Vreeland,  these  sheep  had  some  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  common  bighorn.  In  1916  WilHam 
Rindsfoos  killed  specimens  of  the  bighorn  on  Wapiti 
River,  north  of  Jarvis  Pass,  which  is  a  good  distance 
south  of  Pine  Pass.  Between  Laurier  Pass  and  the  spot 
where  Rindsfoos  obtained  his  sheep  lies  a  wide  belt  of 
country  in  which  sheep  have  not  yet  been  found  and 
reported  to  the  scientific  world.  Biologists  are  anxious 
to  discover  whether  this  gap  can  be  bridged,  to  learn 
whether  or  not  the  black  sheep  {Ovis  stonei)  and  the  big- 
horn remain  separate  and  distinct,  or  whether  they  in- 
tergrade,  as  in  the  case  of  the  northern  species  of  sheep. 
The  problem  is  interesting  not  only  in  itself  but  for  its 
bearing  on  the  greater  problem  of  the  evolution  of 
species. 

If  there  had  been  time  I  should  very  much  have  liked 
to  make  a  side  trip  into  the  Rockies  at  this  point,  but 
such  a  trip  would  have  been  a  long  and  serious  under- 
taking, for  by  every  account  the  region  is  exceedingly 
rough  and  the  going  impeded  by  much  down  timber. 
H.  Somers-Somerset's  expedition  which  went  through 
the  Pine  Pass  country  in  1893  from  Dunvegan  were 
reduced  to  killing  some  of  their  pack-horses  for  food, 
and  reached  Fort  McLeod  in  a  state  of  semistarvation. 
The  region  east  of  the  upper  Finlay  had  been  selected 
as  the  scene  of  our  operations,  and  the  shortness  of  the 
season  demanded  that  we  hasten  thither  as  fast  as  cur- 
rent and  paddles  would  take  us. 

On  a  memorable  afternoon,  when  a  high  wind  was 
kicking  up  the  river  so  heavily  that  we  were  forced  to 


88  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

keep  in  sheltered  water  near  shore,  we  lloated  down  the 
final  stretch  of  the  Parsnip  beneath  the  towering  cHffs 
of  Mount  Wolseley,  fought  the  broad,  racing  current  of 
a  new  river  that  came  dashing  down  from  the  north, 
and  tied  up  under  the  bank  at  Peterson's  at  Finlay  Forks. 

Our  approach  had  been  noted  through  a  spy-glass, 
and  a  little  group  had  gathered  on  the  bank  to  welcome 
us  and,  I  doubt  not,  to  learn  our  mission,  for  these  dwell- 
ers in  the  wilderness  have  a  large  bump  of  curiosity. 
Most  of  them  were  old  friends  of  Joe's,  and  I  was  soon 
introduced  to  Mr.  Peterson,  a  grizzled  old  Dane  of  whom 
more  hereafter;  to  Mr.  Staggy,  a  short,  fat  German, 
wearing  a  broad  hat  and  a  broader  smile;  to  "Shorty" 
Webber,  a  still  shorter  and  stockier  German;  and  to  a 
couple  of  prospectors  who  had  been  operating  a  "grizzly" 
on  some  of  the  Parsnip  bars  and  had  washed  out  a  big 
bag  of  "dust." 

As  the  "Forks"  may  in  course  of  time  make  some 
noise  in  the  world,  I  shall  describe  a  bit  in  detail  how  it 
appeared  that  afternoon.  Flowing  up  from  the  south, 
the  Parsnip  meets  here  the  mightier  Finlay,  pouring 
down  from  the  north,  and  their  mingled  waters  become 
known  henceforth  as  Peace  River.  To  the  west  of  the 
Forks  and  for  a  short  distance  on  the  east  of  the  Finlay 
there  lies  a  level  plain,  heavily  overgrown  with  timber 
and  consisting  of  rich  alluvium  capable  of  growing  splen- 
did crops,  as  the  luxuriant  cabbage  and  potatoes  in 
Peterson's  neat  garden  bore  witness.  Around  this  plain, 
rising  like  the  seats  of  an  amphitheatre,  tower  the  moun- 
tains.    Those  to  the  west  and  southwest,  the  Ominecas, 


A  trapper's  main  camp. 


Peterson's  place  at  Fix  lav  Forks. 


FROM  FORT  McLEOD  TO  FINLAY   FORKS     89 

are  distant,  but  those  on  the  north,  east,  and  southeast 
stand  right  over  the  Forks.  A  mile  down  the  Peace  are 
Finlay  Rapids,  and  their  roar  can  be  heard  with  great 
distinctness  at  the  Forks. 

It  is  the  fond  hope  of  the  inhabitants  that  theirs  will 
one  day  be  a  great  city,  and  they  keep  their  eyes  strained 
ever  southward  looking  for  the  coming  of  a  railroad. 
The  place  undoubtedly  enjoys  some  important  strategic 
advantages,  and  I  could  give  several  good  reasons  why 
the  promoters  who  are  behind  the  projected  extension 
of  the  Pacific  Great  Eastern  to  the  plains  country  of 
Peace  River  would  do  far  better  to  come  by  way  of  the 
Forks  than  to  take  the  somewhat  shorter  route  by  way 
of  Pine  Pass.  Uhimately  there  will  probably  be  a  rail- 
way that  will  follow  the  Peace  to  Hudson's  Hope,  and 
another  that  will  run  up  the  Finlay  valley  to  Alaska, 
but  how  soon  these  roads  will  become  realities  is  prob- 
lematical. 

Already  there  exists  strong  rivalry  as  to  which  side 
of  the  river  the  town  site  shall  be.  If  a  railroad  does 
come  through  there  will  undoubtedly  be  town  sites  on 
both  sides  !  But  the  palatial  residences  of  the  nabobs 
who  make  millions  out  of  real  estate,  timber,  and  mines, 
will  be  located  on  the  heights  to  eastward.  At  present 
the  place  has  three  centres.  First,  there  is  the  govern- 
ment house,  a  new  cabin  standing  on  an  island  in  the 
Parsnip  a  little  above  the  mouth.  Second,  Mr.  Staggy's 
store  on  the  east  side  of  the  junction.  Third,  Mr.  Peter- 
son's new  cabin  and  store  on  the  timbered  flat  opposite. 
I  ought  to  say  that  neither  Mr.  Peterson  nor  Mr.  Staggy 


90  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

has  as  yet  advertised  for  clerks  to  help  them  with  press 
of  customers.  In  fact,  it  would  not  take  a  very  strong 
team  to  pull  the  stocks  of  both.  But  it  should  be  added 
that  most  great  mercantile  houses  have  their  small  be- 
ginnings ! 

As  for  the  population  of  the  region,  being  averse  to 
disclosing  the  nakedness  of  friends,  I  shall  merely  say  in 
passing  that  there  must  have  been  almost  a  score  of 
men  roundabout  when  I  was  there — including  a  party 
of  surveyors,  whose  strength  I  decline  to  state.  The 
winter  before  the  Forks  boasted  of  the  society  of  two 
ladies,  but  it  boasts  no  more.  If  all  the  men  who  have 
taken  pre-emptions  should  return,  the  population  would 
be  increased  a  dozen  or  so.  But  some  grew  tired  of 
waiting  for  the  railroad,  while  others  became  inflamed 
with  a  desire  to  help  reduce  the  surplus  population  of 
Germany. 

It  must  not  be  understood  that  I  ascertained  all  these 
facts  standing  upon  the  bank  beneath  which  we  had 
tied  our  canoe.  The  truth  is  that  after  a  survey  of 
what  lay  about  me — in  particular  of  the  Finlay  of  my 
dreams — I  entered  Peterson's  ''store"  and  found  Joe 
busily  examining  his  beloved  graphophone.  The  exami- 
nation proved  satisfactory,  and  soon  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  listening  to  the  strains  of  **  Molly  Maclntyre"  and 
many  another  "classic"  ! 


CHAPTER  VI 
BUCKING  THE   FINLAY 

With  our  arrival  at  Finlay  Forks  our  "joy  ride"  was 
over;  our  real  work  had  begun.  Henceforth  every  mile 
of  advance  could  be  won  only  at  the  cost  of  exhausting 
physical  effort;  no  more  lazy  drifting  down  with  the  cur- 
rent, dipping  our  paddles  only  when  we  felt  like  making 
the  effort.  As  I  stood  on  the  bank  in  front  of  Peterson's 
the  afternoon  of  our  arrival  at  the  Forks  and  noted  how 
the  current  came  pouring  fiercely  down  from  the  north, 
I  realized  that  we  must  nerve  ourselves  for  conflict;  not 
merely  for  a  skirmish  or  even  for  a  pitched  battle,  but 
for  a  campaign. 

The  Finlay  River,  which  should  really  be  called  the 
Peace,  is  a  stream  which  at  its  mouth  was,  even  at  that 
low  stage  of  water,  over  three  hundred  yards  wide  and 
very  swift  and  deep.  To  make  a  comparison  which  will 
be  understandable  to  Americans,  the  Finlay  is  a  river 
larger  than  the  Wabash  and  drains  a  rugged  mountain 
area  probably  larger  than  Indiana. 

At  Peterson's  we  left  a  considerable  quantity  of  pro- 
visions and  a  number  of  other  articles  which  we  had 
decided  we  could  dispense  with.  We  did  this  to  lighten 
the  canoe,  but  as  Joe  added  his  rifle,  a  great  deal  more 
bedding,  and  a  big  tent  that  must  have  weighed  fully 

91 


92    ON  THE   HEAD\\A'rERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

forty  pounds,  the  canoe  lay  about  as  deep  in  the  water 
when  we  began  to  buck  the  Finlay  current  as  when  we 
reached  the  Forks.  The  tent  added  to  our  comfort  at 
various  times  during  the  trip,  but  we  could  readily  have 
done  without  it.  I  consented  to  take  it  along  because 
of  my  growing  knowledge  of  Joe's  weakness  for  sybaritic 
luxuries. 

Every  old  traveller  In  the  North  has  experienced 
how  difficult  it  is  to  get  an  outfit  started  away  from  a 
settled  place  at  an  early  hour,  and  such  travellers  will 
readily  understand  why  it  was  after  nine  o'clock,  before 
we  at  last  said  good-by  to  Peterson,  "Shorty"  Webber, 
and  others  who  had  gathered  to  see  us  off,  and  pushed 
the  canoe  out  into  the  river.  The  fact  is  that  we  had 
remained  up  late  the  night  before  and  felt  disinclined 
to  arise  early,  both  because  of  this  fact  and  because  of 
a  hard  frost.  The  temperature,  in  fact,  fell  low  enough 
to  freeze  a  thin  covering  of  ice  on  water-pails  and  to 
"cook"  the  tops  of  the  potatoes.  This  was  the  i6th  of 
August,  considerably  earlier,  I  was  told,  than  frost  usu- 
ally visits  the  Forks.  The  untimely  visitation  stopped 
the  growth  of  potatoes  for  that  year,  but  those  that  had 
been  planted  early  were  already  pretty  well  advanced. 

My  weight  brought  the  bow  of  the  canoe  so  low  in 
the  water  that,  as  I  had  had  little  experience  in  poling, 
Joe  deemed  it  better  for  me  to  walk  on  shore  a  good 
part  of  the  time,  while  he  shoved  the  canoe  up.  On  the 
quieter  stretches  we  paddled,  and  I  always  helped  to 
make  the  frequent  crossings  which  were  rendered  neces- 
sary by  log-jams  and  lack  of  pole  bottom  along  steep 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  93 

banks,  whereas  shallow  water  could  always  be  found  on 
the  opposite,  or  gravel-beach,  side. 

Let  no  party  set  out  with  the  mad  thought  that  they 
can  paddle  all  the  way  up  the  Finlay.  They  might  as 
well  attempt  to  fly  to  the  moon.  They  would  make  a 
little  progress  on  either  trip,  but  in  neither  would  they 
ever  arrive  at  their  destination. 

For  a  few  miles  up  the  Finlay  the  choicest  bits  of 
land  have  been  pre-empted,  and  a  few  cabins  have  been 
erected.  Most  of  the  pre-emptors,  however,  had  either 
abandoned  their  claims  in  disgust  or  had  gone  to  the 
war.  I  reproduce  on  p.  106  the  picture  of  a  cabin  be- 
longing to  one  such  volunteer.  The  projecting  logs  in 
front  furnish  evidence  that  he  intended  to  add  a  front 
porch  to  his  habitation,  but  answered  the  summons  of 
the  fiery  cross  before  he  got  it  done.  It  was  certainly 
a  long  way  to  go  to  fight.  To  reach  Prince  George,  the 
nearest  recruiting-station,  is  a  matter  of  about  two  weeks 
of  hard  and  exhausting  effort.  And  even  Prince  George 
is  a  bit  distant  from  the  fighting  front.  One  of  the  con- 
tingents, on  leaving  that  place,  displayed  a  banner  bear- 
ing the  inscription,  "Seven  thousand  miles  to  Berlin!" 
Truly  a  wonderful  thing  is  the  British  Empire;  it  has  its 
concrete  realities,  some  of  them  not  altogether  admirable, 
and  it  also  has  the  spirit  that  gives  life.  As  I  passed 
these  deserted  cabins  and  gazed  through  the  open  door- 
ways at  the  litter  within  I  felt  like  reverently  lifting  my 
hat  in  honor  of  the  gallant  fellows  who  had  answered  the 
distant  call.  A  finer  thing  than  this  rallying  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth  the  world  has  never  seen. 


94    ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Four  miles  up  the  river  we  stopped  at  the  neat  cabin 
of  a  pre-emptioner  named  Gibson,  and,  though  it  was 
only  eleven  o'clock,  he  insisted  on  digging  some  potatoes 
and  cooking  a  meal  before  he  would  let  us  proceed. 
Gibson  is  a  man  of  middle  age,  a  native  of  Ontario,  but 
long  a  resident  of  British  Columbia,  and  he  tells  of  hav- 
ing years  ago  chopped  timber  oflF  lots  in  Vancouver  that 
he  could  have  bought  then  for  seventy-five  dollars  apiece, 
and   that   are  worth   a   hundred   thousand   apiece   now, 

A  little  above  Gibson's,  as  I  was  making  my  way 
through  some  burnt  timber,  a  red-tailed  hawk  alighted 
on  a  black  stub,  a  hundred  and  nine  paces  away,  and  I 
cut  him  down  with  a  bullet  from  the  little  .32.  Much 
of  the  timber  along  the  river  had  been  burned,  and  in 
places  the  open  patches  were  covered  with  a  thick  growth 
of  fireweed,  whose  gay,  pinkish  flowers  gave  a  touch  of 
brilliant  beauty.  This  plant  bears  a  small  pod  which 
bursts  open  and  releases  a  sort  of  cotton  that  helps  to 
distribute  the  seed.  Some  patches  were  badly  overrun 
by  a  big  worm,  whose  excretions  unpleasantly  discolored 
one's  trousers  when  he  brushed  against  the  pests.  In 
passing  through  some  of  the  burns  I  had  to  watch  my 
steps,  for  the  ground  was  full  of  deep  pitfalls  left  by 
burnt  roots;  in  spite  of  my  care,  I  several  times  plunged 
down  into  the  holes. 

That  afternoon  we  passed  Pete  Toy's  Bar,  where 
years  before  a  giant  Cornishman  and  associates  are  said 
to  have  washed  out  seventy  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
gold-dust.  Toy  was  long  a  celebrated  character  in  this 
region,  and  tradition  says  that  he  had  two  klooches  to  do 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  95 

his  packing  for  him.  He  was  finally  drowned  in  the 
Black  Canyon  of  the  Omineca,  and,  of  course,  there  is  a 
story  that  he  left  a  great  hoard  of  buried  "dust."  His 
bar  still  exercises  a  fascination  for  prospectors,  and  it 
would  seem  that  some  time  or  other  every  one  who  visits 
the  region  takes  a  whirl  at  it.  That  spring  some  hopeful 
soul  had  thought  well  enough  of  it  to  square  the  stump 
of  a  small  poplar  and  set  down  in  pencil  that  he  meant 
to  file  a  claim  there.  Evidently  he  had  a  sense  of  humor, 
for  he  called  the  claim  the  "  Perhaps  Placer." 

The  gold  in  Pete  Toy's  Bar  probably  came  originally 
from  the  Omineca  River,  and  years  ago  there  were  some 
rich  camps  up  this  stream,  such  as  "Old  Hog'em"  and 
"New  Hog'em."  But  the  cost  of  bringing  in  supplies 
was  almost  prohibitive,  and  even  now  it  costs  ten  cents 
a  pound  to  get  freight  from  Prince  George  to  Fort 
Grahame.  When  a  railroad  reaches  the  country,  it  may 
prove  profitable  to  work  over  the  bars  with  steam-dredges. 

I  had  not  gone  a  mile  above  the  Forks  before  I  came 
upon  both  bear  and  moose  tracks.  Bear  tracks  were 
astonishingly  numerous.  There  was  hardly  a  bar  or 
spot  of  soft  ground  anywhere  which  did  not  show  traces 
of  these  animals.  At  the  foot  of  a  remarkable  slide 
which  I  passed  late  in  the  afternoon  the  plantigrade 
population  had  left  evidences  of  being  particularly  plen- 
tiful. There  were  tracks  of  big  bears,  little  bears,  mid- 
dle-sized bears;  here  papa  bear  had  stalked  along  the 
beach  on  business  or  pleasure  intent;  there  mamma  bear 
and  two  cublets  had  been  promenading  to  take  the  eve- 
ning air.     From  the  lack  of  big  claw  marks  I  could  see 


96    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

that  all  the  tracks  were  those  of  black  or  brown  bears, 
but  the  mountains  that  were  closing  in  on  the  river  from 
the  east  are  known  to  contain  grizzlies,  and  not  long 
before  an  old  prospector  had  been  driven  out  by  their 
persistent  inquisitiveness  as  to  his  business  in  that  local- 
ity. For  the  most  part  grizzlies  remain  in  the  high  hills 
and  mountains  and  only  occasionally  come  down  into 
the  valleys. 

We  camped  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  above  the 
slide  I  have  mentioned,  and  while  we  were  eating  supper 
we  happened  to  notice  some  animal  swimming  the  river 
toward  the  slide. 

"It  swims  high,"  said  Joe,  after  a  careful  look.  "It's 
a  bear." 

My  glasses  confirmed  his  conclusion,  and  through 
them  I  watched  the  animal  wade  ashore  on  a  gravel-bar 
island  and  then  lope  in  characteristically  lumbering 
bruin  fashion  to  the  little  slough  beyond,  cross  it,  and 
disappear  on  the  slide. 

"He  seems  in  a  hurry,"  laughed  Joe.  "He  must  be 
a  bachelor  looking  for  a  war  widow." 

"Too  bad  that  it's  too  dark  to  go  after  him,"  I  re- 
turned regretfully.  "Why  couldn't  he  have  made  his 
crossing  when  I  was  on  that  slide  ?" 

At  noon  next  day,  after  a  hard  struggle  with  the 
current,  we  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Omineca,  a  wide, 
shallow,  swift  stream,  which  contributes  about  a  fifth 
of  the  water  of  the  Finlay,  and  is  its  largest  tributary 
from  the  west.  Immense  gravel-bars  extend  up  and 
down  the  Finlay  on  both  sides  of  the  Qmineca's  mouth, 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  97 

while  opposite  it  the  bank  is  higher,  and  on  this  we 
lunched.  The  bank  had  been  burned  over  years  before 
and  was  now  overgrown  with  poplar  saplings,  beneath 
which  the  ground  bore  a  thick  mat  of  wild-strawberry 
vines.  The  place  was  evidently  a  favorite  camping  spot 
with  the  Indians,  and  we  noticed  an  old  grave. 

"This  is  just  the  kind  of  place  the  Siwash  like,"  said 
Joe.  **It's  a  lot  pleasanter  to  them  to  lie  round  a  camp 
and  let  bears  and  moose  come  to  them  than  it  is  to  cHmb 
around  in  the  mountains.  A  Siwash  backs  away  from 
anything  that  looks  like  work.  Most  of  their  camps  are 
on  spots  like  this — overlooking  a  bar — and  somebody 
always  is  on  the  lookout.  It's  good-by  to  any  moose 
that  shows  himself.  If  they  don't  see  but  one  animal 
a  week  they're  satisfied." 

Looking  up  the  valley  of  the  Omineca,  we  had  a  fine 
view  of  the  distant  Omineca  or  Wolverine  Mountains. 
This  range,  some  of  whose  rugged  peaks  rise  high  enough 
to  bear  patches  of  perpetual  snow,  has  never  been  thor- 
oughly explored,  but  the  course  of  the  river  itself  is 
fairly  well  known,  and  there  were  formerly  some  mining- 
camps  on  its  tributaries.  About  seven  miles  in  a  straight 
line  above  its  mouth  the  Omineca  cuts  through  a  rocky 
ridge  of  gneiss  and  mica-schist,  forming  the  gloomy 
Black  Canyon.  To  the  west  of  the  headwaters  there  is 
said  to  be  a  glacier  covering  three  square  miles  of  terri- 
tory, and  there  is  also  a  peculiar  natural  curiosity  known 
as  the  "Big  Kettle."  This  "Kettle"  is  at  the  top  of  a 
conical  mound  about  fifteen  feet  high,  and  from  it  strong 
puffs  of  a  sulphurous  gas  escape.     Small  birds,  bushy- 


98  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

tailed  rats,  and  even  owls  have  been  found  dead  at  the 
bottom  of  this  vent  or  fumarole.  The  Indians  assert 
that  the  "Kettle"  is  the  habitation  of  evil  spirits,  and 
they  declare  that  birds  flying  over  it  are  mysteriously 
killed  in  mid-air.  One  of  the  white  men  who  has  seen 
it  reports  that  "about  an  acre  around  the  'Kettle'  is 
built  up  of  a  spring-deposited  rock  resembling  traver- 
tine. Many  mineralized  springs  seep  out,  forming  stag- 
nant pools  and  oozy  patches  of  reddish  and  yellow  mud." 
Not  far  above  the  mouth  of  the  Ospica,  which  enters 
the  Finlay  from  the  eastward  about  a  mile  above  the 
mouth  of  the  Omineca,  we  were  paddling  quietly  along 
under  a  bank  in  order  to  avoid  the  current,  when  there 
was  a  sudden  scurrying  about  on  top  of  the  bank  out  of 
our  sight,  and  then  a  crashing  of  small  brush.  To  run 
the  bow  of  the  canoe  against  the  bank,  to  leap  out,  rifle 
in  hand,  and  dash  up  the  bank  was  the  work  of  no  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  minute.  But  the  poplar  saplings 
grew  very  thick,  and  no  animal  was  in  sight.  Ten  feet 
back  from  the  edge  of  the  bank,  however,  there  was  a 
sandy  spot  that  bore  the  imprint  of  a  beast's  form,  and 
there  were  fresh  bear  tracks  roundabout.  A  little  bear 
had  been  taking  his  noon  siesta  there,  not  thirty  feet 
away  from  us.  The  episode  is  typical  of  many  experi- 
ences with  bears.  On  the  McLeod  River  some  years  ago 
a  bear  sneaked  right  through  our  pack-train,  which  was 
stretched  out  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards  on  a  trail 
that  ran  through  thick,  scrubby  jack-pine,  and  none  of 
us  saw  hair  nor  hide  of  him.  We  would  never  even 
have  been  aware  of  his  presence  if  one  of  us  had  not 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  99 

happened  to  notice  where  bruin's  paw  had  blotted  out 
a  fresh  cayuse  track  in  the  mud. 

Ice  formed  again  that  night,  and  we  were  hopeful 
that  it  would  put  the  mosquitoes  out  of  business,  for 
they  had  been  very  trying  at  some  of  the  camps  and 
often  bothersome  even  on  the  river.  I  am  very  suscep- 
tible to  the  mosquito,  and  a  few  of  them  can  drive  me 
almost  frantic.  I  readily  agree  with  both  the  French- 
Canadian  and  Mark  Twain  regarding  these  pests.  The 
former  declared  that  "eet  is  not  so  much  his  bite  as  his 
damn  hum,"  while  Mark  insisted  that  he  objected  not 
to  the  mosquito  but  to  his  business.  On  retiring  to  my 
tent  at  night  I  would  invariably  adjust  the  cheese-cloth 
front  with  great  care  and  then  proceed  to  exterminate 
any  of  the  hummers  who  had  managed  to  accompany 
me  inside.  When  one  has  plenty  of  matches,  about  as 
good  a  way  as  any  to  do  this  is  to  singe  the  pesky  crea- 
tures. 

Next  morning  we  came  in  sight  of  a  great  slide  on 
the  east  bank,  and  Joe  said:  "That's  as  far  up  the  river 
as  I  have  ever  been." 

"Then  we'll  call  this  place  Joe  Lavoie's  Farthest 
North,"  said  I,  and  many  times  thereafter  we  laughingly 
referred  to  the  spot  by  this  appellation. 

Henceforth  neither  of  us  had  any  personal  knowledge 
of  the  region  we  were  penetrating. 

As  if  to  welcome  us  to  the  unknown,  three  willow 
grouse,  a  mother  and  two  callow  young  things,  stood  on 
the  edge  of  the  slide  to  watch  the  explorers  go  by,  and 
when  we  turned  in  their  direction,  they  perched  in  low 


loo    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

trees.  A  few  hours  later  three  willow-grouse  were  boil- 
ing in  a  pot  over  a  camp-fire  and  ultimately  found  a 
resting-place  where  they  would  best  serve  the  purpose  of 
advancing  the  expedition. 

That  afternoon,  as  we  were  rounding  an  immense 
gravel-bar,  I  heard  the  distant  measured  explosion  of  a 
gasolene  engine  from  up  the  river,  and  I  called  Joe's 
attention  to  the  sound. 

"It  must  be  the  Huston  party,"  said  he.  "We'll 
land  and  wait  for  them  and  give  them  the  mail  we 
brought  from  the  Forks." 

Around  the  bend  there  presently  came  in  sight  two 
long  wooden  boats  lashed  together  and  containing  five 
men.  The  party  made  a  landing  a  little  above  us,  and  a 
tall,  slender  young  man,  who  introduced  himself  as  Mr. 
Huston,  came  down  the  beach  carrying  a  caribou  shank, 
which  he  kindly  presented  to  us.  Before  long  I  became 
acquainted  with  the  rest  of  the  party — Mr.  Sirdevan, 
Doctor  Thornton,  Angus  Sherwood,  and  Bob  McWil- 
liams.  For  half  an  hour  or  so  we  foregathered  there  on 
the  beach,  we  listening  to  the  tale  of  their  experiences 
up  the  river  and  they  to  our  news  of  the  war  and  of  the 
outside  world  in  general. 

They  had  been  on  a  prospecting  trip  to  the  Long 
Canyon,  but  as  to  their  success  in  this  respect  they  said 
nothing.  They  did,  however,  have  many  tales  to  tell 
of  their  hunting  experiences.  They  asserted  that  on  the 
river  they  had  seen  many  geese,  some  of  them  not  yet 
able  to  fly,  and,  as  they  had  a  twenty-gauge  shotgun, 
they  had  made  a  great  slaughter,  so  great,  in  fact,  that 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  loi 

we  saw  practically  no  geese  at  all.  They  had  made  a 
trip  back  into  the  mountains  from  the  Long  Canyon  and 
had  there  killed  several  caribou,  a  couple  of  goats,  and 
two  sheep.  McWilliams  had  also  "gut  shot"  a  grizzly, 
but  the  beast  had  escaped  into  a  thicket.  They  had  the 
skins  of  the  caribou  with  them  but,  of  course,  not  the 
horns,  which  had  been  still  in  ''velvet";  they  also  had 
the  horns  of. the  sheep  and  goats.  One  pair  of  the  goat 
horns  was  very  good,  but  the  sheep  horns  were  small. 
The  party  were  quite  nonplussed  by  the  color  of  the 
sheep  and  by  the  smallness  of  the  horns.  They  had 
evolved  a  theory  that  perhaps  the  specimens  they  had 
slain  were  very  aged  animals.  In  reality,  of  course,  the 
animals  were  not  the  bighorns  of  the  United  States  and 
southern  British  Columbia,  of  which  alone  these  men 
had  heard,  but  Stone's  mountain-sheep;  this  fact  ac- 
counted for  the  unexpected  color,  while  the  smallness  of 
the  horns  was  due  not  to  age  but  youth  ! 

While  on  the  trip  Huston  had  had  an  opportunity 
repeatedly  to  try  out  a  well-known  .22  caliber  high- 
power  rifle,  and  his  verdict  and  that  of  Sherwood,  who 
is  an  experienced  hunter,  was  that  it  was  not  suitable 
for  big  game.  They  declared  that  only  repeated  shots 
in  a  vital  spot  would  bring  down  caribou.  Their  experi- 
ence tends  to  prove  what  really  is  not  a  matter  for  seri- 
ous dispute,  namely,  that  a  .22  caliber  gun,  no  matter 
what  its  striking  energy  may  be,  is  not  the  weapon  to 
use  on  big  game.  Big  game  can,  of  course,  be  killed 
with  it,  but  it  has  not  the  stopping  power  of  a  larger- 
caliber  gun,  and  it  is  far  from  suitable  for  a  country  in 


I02    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

which  at  any  time  the  hunter  may  be  called  upon  to 
drop  a  grizzly. 

Early  next  morning,  while  we  were  still  in  camp,  a 
family  of  Fort  Grahame  Siwash  paddled  down  the  river 
past  us,  and  Joe  talked  to  them  a  little,  but  they  did 
not  stop.  It  was  a  most  unusual  Indian  family,  being 
so  large  that  it  took  two  canoes — a  big  dugout  and  an- 
other craft  of  spruce  bark — to  hold  all  the  big  and  little 
Siwash  that  made  it  up.  If  all  the  aboriginal  couples 
in  that  region  had  followed  the  example  of  this  worthy 
pair  there  would  be  no  "race  suicide"  in  the  Finlay  val- 
ley and  no  gradual  decline  in  the  Siwash  population.  I 
gazed  at  the  unusual  sight  with  approval,  but  I  could 
not  help  reflecting  that  it  must  take  a  lot  of  rustling  on 
the  part  of  papa  Siwash  and  his  grown-up  son  to  keep 
all  those  mouths  filled  with  moose  meat. 

Throughout  most  of  its  course  the  Finlay  occupies 
part  of  a  most  remarkable  intermontane  valley,  which 
is  thus  described  by  Mr.  McConnell,  of  the  Canadian 
Geological  Survey: 

"The  great  Intermontane  valley  .  .  .  forms  one  of 
the  most  important  topographical  features  of  British 
Columbia.  It  crosses  the  international  boundary  about 
longitude  115°  10'  W.  and  runs  in  a  direction  N.  33°  W. 
along  the  western  base  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  separ- 
ating the  latter  from  the  Selkirks  and  other  ranges  on 
the  west,  for  a  distance  of  over  eight  hundred  miles.  It 
is  entirely  independent  of  the  present  drainage  system 
of  the  country,  as  it  is  occupied  successively,  beginning 
at  the  boundary,  by  a  number  of  rivers  belonging  to 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  103 

distinct  systems,  among  which  are  the  Kootanie,  the 
Columbia,  Canoe  River,  the  Fraser,  Bad  River,  the 
Parsnip,  the  Finlay,  and  the  Tochieca.  ...  Its  width 
varies  from  two  to  fifteen  miles,  and  it  is  everywhere 
enclosed,  except  for  some  distance  along  the  west  bank 
of  the  Parsnip,  by  mountain  ranges  varying  in  height 
from  3,000  to  6,000  feet  or  more  above  the  valley.  .  .  . 

"The  age  of  the  valley  has  not  been  worked  out,  but 
it  is  evident  that  it  long  antedates  the  inception  of  the 
present  drainage  system  of  the  country,  and  may  have 
been  in  existence  before  the  elevation  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  proper.  Rocks  of  Tertiary  Age  (probably 
Miocene)  are  supposed  by  Doctor  Dawson  to  underlie 
part  of  the  southern  portion  of  the  valley,  while  sand- 
stones'"and  conglomerates  of  Laramie  Age  are  present 
along  both  the  Parsnip  and  Finlay.  Glacial  deposits 
are  present  throughout  its  whole  extent.'* 

The  Parsnip-Finlay  section  of  this  great  valley  con- 
tains timber  that  will  ultimately  be  of  value  to  the 
world,  though  much  of  the  forest  has  recently  been 
burned,  while  the  rest  is  comparatively  small  stuff  that 
has  grown  up  after  old  fires.  There  are  also  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  acres  of  land  that  can  be  used  for  agri- 
culture. Doubtless,  however,  the  role  in  which  this 
section  of  the  valley  will  chiefly  figure  in  the  future  will 
be  as  the  natural  route  for  a  railroad  to  Alaska,  the 
building  of  which  cannot  be,  I  take  it,  many  years 
distant. 

Throughout  the  hundred  and  sixty  miles  that  the 
Finlay  follows  it  the  floor  of  the  valley  consists,  except 


I04    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

for  one  short  stretch  at  Deserter's  Canyon,  of  deposits 
of  sand,  gravel,  and  soil  carried  thither  either  by  the 
river  itself  or  by  glaciers  of  an  earlier  period.  The 
course  of  the  river,  except  for  a  few  stretches,  notably 
one  of  about  a  dozen  miles  above  the  entrance  of  the 
Ospica  and  another  above  Paul's  Branch,  is  devious 
and  crooked  to  the  last  degree.  The  current  is  very 
rapid,  averaging  perhaps  four  or  five  miles  an  hour, 
with  many  stretches  where  it  is  much  swifter  and  a  few 
where  it  is  slower. 

In  certain  places,  for  example  below  the  Omenica, 
great  tracts  of  ground,  ten,  twenty,  forty,  even  a  hun- 
dred acres,  had  slid  down  to  the  river,  carrying  forest 
and  everything  with  them.  Below  Paul's  Branch  we 
saw  a  slide  that  had  come  down  the  spring  before  and 
that  had  for  a  time  completely  blocked  the  river,  which 
there  is  approximately  two  hundred  yards  wide.  Hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  tons  had  been  precipitated  into  the 
stream,  and  what  remained  formed  a  large  island  in  the 
middle  of  the  river. 

Another  feature  of  the  Finlay  is  the  rapidity  with 
which  it  changes  its  course.  The  sandy,  gravelly  soil  is 
exceedingly  susceptible  to  erosion  and  requires  hardly 
more  than  a  touch  of  water  to  set  it  crumbling  and  dis- 
solving. During  the  spring  floods  the  fierce  current  will 
undermine  acres  along  a  bank  in  a  single  night,  cutting 
new  channels  and  sweeping  down  the  forest  trees  by 
thousands.  When  the  flood  recedes,  many  of  the  trees 
that  have  just  fallen  retain  a  hold  by  their  roots  upon 
the   bank   and,   lying   half  submerged,   form   dangerous 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  105 

sweepers,  of  which  the  canoeman  must  be  wary  or  else 
come  to  grief.  By  far  the  greater  number  of  trees,  how- 
ever, are  swept  completely  away.  Most  such  trees  are 
tall,  slender  spruce,  and  the  grinding  ice  and  the  pull 
and  thrust  of  the  current  forcing  the  trees  against  banks 
and  other  obstacles,  soon  strip  off  the  branches,  leaving 
the  trunks  as  bare  as  fishing-poles,  but  with  a  matting 
of  heavy  roots  still  remaining  at  the  butts. 

When  the  river  is  falling,  such  trees  go  drifting  down 
across  the  gravel-bars  top  first,  their  roots  catching  at 
the  gravel  beneath  and  leaving  long  furrows.  Many 
such  trees  finally  hang  upon  the  bars  in  this  way  and 
remain  there  until  the  next  high  water  drifts  them  off. 
Most  trees,  however,  ultimately  find  a  grave  in  the  vast 
log-jams  that  form  at  the  heads  of  islands,  along  the 
shores,  and  across  the  inlets  of  old  channels.  There  are 
thousands  of  such  jams,  and  many  are  of  immense  ex- 
tent. The  longest  that  I  recall  lies  some  distance  below 
Pete  Toy's  Bar,  is  well-nigh  a  mile  in  length,  ?nd  con- 
tains tens  of  thousands  of  logs. 

In  fighting  one's  way  up-stream,  one  must  perforce 
keep  in  the  quieter  water  along  the  bank,  and  often  the 
canoe  must  pass  close  beside  logs  beneath  which  the  cur- 
rent sets  fiercely.  Only  constant  watchfulness  and  skill 
can  prevent  the  canoe  from  being  drawn  beneath  such 
logs.  Should  this  happen  at  a  single  log,  there  would 
remain  some  hope  of  saving  life  and  the  canoe,  but  a 
jam  is  a  different  matter.  The  current  usually  sucks 
under  the  jams  with  resistless  power,  and  instances  have 
occurred  in  which  men  and  boats  have  been  drawn  under 


io6    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

and  have  never  been  seen  again.  Unless  the  occupants 
can  manage  to  spring  upon  the  jam  before  their  craft 
goes  under  it,  their  fate  is  sealed. 

In  our  ascent  we  were  careful  to  give  the  jams  as 
wide  a  berth  as  possible,  and  would  always  undergo  the 
strenuous  work  of  making  a  traverse  to  the  other  shore 
rather  than  attempt  to  pass  up  near  a  jam  against  which 
the  current  set.  Now  and  then,  though  very  rarely,  we 
found  jams  on  both  sides,  and  in  such  a  case  we  would 
take  the  side  that  seemed  less  dangerous. 

In  a  rather  wide  experience  with  rivers,  I  have  never 
seen  one  so  profusely  furnished  with  log-jams  as  is  the 
Finlay,  and  neither  do  I  know  one  that  is  in  the  same 
class  with  it  as  regards  sand  and  gravel  bars.  Much  of 
the  vast  floor  of  the  valley  is  an  immense  bed  of  sand 
and  gravel,  and  the  stream  in  its  constant  shifting  digs 
this  up  in  immense  quantities  and  deposits  it  in  bars  of 
perfectly  enormous  extent.  In  places,  also,  the  river 
has  cut  a  deep  channel  down  into  the  gravel,  so  that 
one  passes  immense  gravel  cliffs,  hundreds  of  feet  high 
and  even  miles  long.  These  cliffs  occur  on  several 
stretches  of  the  river,  but  are  particularly  noticeable  in 
the  stretch  lying  between  the  Ackie  and  Paul's  Branch. 
I  believe  I  am  speaking  conservatively  and  after  due 
consideration  when  I  say  that  there  is  enough  gravel  in 
the  Finlay  valley  to  supply  every  pike  in  the  United 
States  for  a  hundred  years. 

Some  of  the  gravel-bars  are  very  beautiful,  and  I 
found  it  a  real  pleasure  to  walk  over  them.  The  stones 
and   pebbles  are  of  every  imaginable  shape  and  color. 


CaBIX    of    a    TRAI'PF.R    will)    WKXT    TO    TIIK    WAR. 


Thi:  i.arc;est  log  jam  that  i  recall  lies  some  distance  below  Pete 

Toy's  Bar. 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  107 

and  many  have  been  given  a  high  poHsh  by  the  endless 
action  of  water.  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  boulder  walls 
and  pillars,  and  it  was  a  source  of  real  regret  to  me  that 
I  could  not  select  a  few  carloads  of  those  gorgeously 
beautiful  stones  for  use  in  building  a  boulder-concrete 
house ! 

The  bars,  unless  they  lie  where  they  are  swept  clean 
every  year  by  swift  high  water,  do  not  long  remain  bar- 
ren. The  seeds  of  balsam-poplar  are  profusely  scattered 
there  by  the  agencies  of  nature,  and  in  a  few  years  the 
bar  is  covered  with  a  dense  thicket.  Spruce,  too,  finds 
a  foothold,  and  in  a  few  decades  a  fine  forest  stands 
where  the  river  once  ran. 

Meanwhile  the  river  has  been  careering  about,  tear- 
ing down  forest  elsewhere,  but  there  comes  a  time  when 
it  once  more  shifts  back  toward  its  old  location  and  be- 
gins undermining  the  new  forest.  In  hundreds  of  places 
the  traveller  on  the  Finlay  sees  in  banks  that  are  being 
washed  down  the  half-rotten  timbers  of  log  jams  of 
generations  before,  jams  that  have  been  covered  over 
with  soil  and  overgrown  with  trees  and  now  are  once 
more  exposed  to  view  by  the  relentless  river. 

Thus  the  history  of  the  Finlay  and  its  valley  is  a 
story  of  endless  change,  of  ceaseless  destruction,  con- 
struction, and  again  destruction. 

In  some  places  the  stream  was  split  into  half  a  dozen 
channels,  surrounding  numerous  islands,  and  it  was  often 
diflficult  to  determine  which  channel  we  ought  to  take. 
Log  jams  and  bars  were  ever  present,  and  we  encoun- 
tered rapids  that  could  be  surmounted  only  by  lining  the 


io8    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

canoe  up  or  by  springing  overboard  and  walking  the  craft 
up.  To  cross  from  one  side  of  the  river  to  the  other  in- 
variably provoked  a  fierce  battle,  and  not  infrequently  it 
was  only  by  using  our  last  ounce  of  strength  that  we 
managed  to  cross  above  some  dreaded  log-jam.  Such 
work  was  wearying  in  the  extreme,  even  to  me,  who  did 
only  a  small  part  of  it,  and  I  could  not  but  admire  the 
strength,  the  skill,  the  ready  resource  with  which  Joe 
invariably  solved  every  problem  that  presented  itself. 
As  a  canoeman  he  was  undoubtedly  a  past  master. 
Though  there  were  scores  of  times  when  a  slight  mistake 
could  easily  have  been  disastrous,  he  never  made  it. 

Often  we  had  magnificent  views  of  mountains  rising 
high  on  both  sides  of  the  stream.  On  the  left  lay  the 
gneissic  ridge  which  begins  at  the  Black  Canyon  of  the 
Omineca  and  runs  northward  along  the  Finlay,  finally 
culminating  in  some  fine  rugged  peaks  that  tower  a  full 
mile  above  the  river.  On  the  right  the  main  Rockies 
rose  chain  after  chain,  and  through  passes  in  the  outer 
range  we  now  and  then  caught  splendid  glimpses  of 
rugged  white  peaks  which  seemed  to  challenge  us  to 
come  and  climb  them.  Far  ahead  the  mountains  pinched 
in  upon  the  river,  while  summit  upon  summit,  each 
seemingly  taller  and  more  rugged  than  the  one  before 
it,  burst  into  view.  Of  scenic  wonders  there  was  assur- 
edly no  lack. 

We  were  in  good  shape  to  appreciate  these  marvels, 
for,  though  we  were  working  hard,  we  were  living  well. 
In  addition  to  our  ordinary  provisions,  we  had  the  cari- 
bou shank  that  Huston  had  been  good  enough  to  give 


BUCKING  THE   FINLAY  109 

us  and  also  several  grouse,  and  both  caribou  and  grouse 
went  well  either  fried  or  in  a  mulligan. 

Mulligans  are  made  by  boiling  bits  of  meat — the 
more  kinds  the  better — with  a  little  of  everything  else 
that  is  obtainable.  One  mulligan  on  this  stage  of  the 
trip  contained  some  caribou  meat,  a  ruffed  grouse,  some 
bits  of  pork,  rice,  potatoes,  dehydrated  corn,  canned 
tomatoes,  macaroni,  salt,  pepper,  a  dash  of  dehydrated 
celery,  and  probably  some  other  ingredients  that  I  have 
forgotten.  The  celery  gave  the  added  touch  needed  to 
transform  the  mulligan  from  merely  good  food  into  a 
dish  fit  for  the  gods,  and  I  advise  every  one  who  goes 
on  such  a  trip  to  take  along  a  can  of  this  wonder-working 
article. 


CHAPTER  VII 
A   LUCKY   DAY 

Late  on  the  fourth  day  from  the  Forks,  after  a 
strenuous  time  bucking  swift  water,  we  camped  in  a 
grove  of  spruce  beside  the  river  and  passed  as  comfor- 
table a  night  as  the  mosquitoes  would  permit.  The 
Huston  party  had  camped  there  on  their  way  up,  and 
near  the  ashes  of  their  camp-fire  I  picked  up  a  loaded 
20-gauge  shotgun-shell.  Evidently  they  had  had  great 
quantities  of  ammunition  or  else  had  been  very  careless 
with  it,  for  I  later  picked  up  another  such  shell  at  their 
camping-place  at  the  foot  of  Deserter's  Canyon.  We 
knew  that  we  could  not  be  far  from  Fort  Grahame,  and, 
in  fact,  we  had  had  hopes  of  making  the  post  that  after- 
noon, but  had  been  disappointed.  Around  us  lay  a  per- 
fect labyrinth  of  sloughs,  channels,  and  islands,  forming 
a  region  eminently  fitted  to  breed  a  particularly  ferocious 
variety  of  the  pest  above  mentioned. 

When  we  set  out  next  morning,  we  felt  confident  that 
an  hour  or  two  would  bring  us  to  the  post,  but  noon 
came  and  passed  and  still  we  were  fighting  our  way  up- 
stream with  no  fort  yet  in  sight.  About  two  o'clock 
Joe  was  poling  the  canoe  along  near  a  great  gravel-bar 
and  I  was  making  a  short  cut  overland  toward  the  head 
of  the  bar  when  an  adventure  befell  us. 

The  gravel-bar  on  which   I  was  walking  was  about 


A  LUCKY   DAY  iii 

half  a  mile  long  and  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  wide; 
it  was,  in  fact,  an  island,  being  cut  off  from  the  forest- 
covered  bank  at  its  back  by  a  shallow  slough,  which  in 
places  was  only  a  few  feet  wide.  It  was  highest  next 
the  main  river,  up  which  Joe  was  poling  the  canoe,  and 
near  the  river  there  was  a  tangle  of  drifted  logs.  From 
where  I  was  walking  I  could  see  behind  this  jam  to  the 
head  of  the  bar,  but  I  could  not  see  the  river  side  of  the 
jam.  Thinking  that  the  jam  might  form  an  obstacle  in 
getting  around  which  Joe  would  need  my  assistance,  I 
walked  out  toward  the  river  to  get  in  touch  with  him. 
When  I  reached  the  low  ridge  close  to  the  shore,  I  no- 
ticed that  Joe  had  stopped  the  canoe,  and  when  he  saw 
me  he  motioned  wildly  for  me  to  hurry  to  him  and 
pointed  up  the  river.  I  looked  in  the  direction  indicated 
and  saw  an  animal  that  I  recognized  at  once  as  a  bear, 
striking  out  from  the  pile  of  logs  toward  the  opposite 
bank. 

To  run  down  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  wade  out  in 
the  shallow  water  to  the  canoe  and  scramble  aboard 
was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Little  was  said,  and  that 
in  a  low  voice,  but  we  both  fell  to  with  our  paddles  and 
soon  had  our  craft  leaping  through  the  water  toward 
the  swimming  bruin.  As  we  went  we  had  time  to  cast 
some  hurried  glances  about  us  and  to  size  up  the  situ- 
ation. The  river  at  this  point  was  fully  two  hundred 
yards  wide,  and  on  the  farther  side  rose  a  steep  bank, 
perhaps  ten  feet  high,  lined  with  "sweepers."  The  cur- 
rent, which  was  very  swift,  set  in  toward  this  bank  and 
ran  much  more  rapidly  than  on  the  opposite  side. 


112    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

**That  current  will  help  us,"  said  Joe  in  a  low  voice. 
"He'll  feel  it  pretty  soon." 

Sure  enough,  it  was  not  long  before  the  bear  began 
to  have  a  hard  time  stemming  this  current;  in  fact,  it 
began  to  sweep  him  down  a  bit. 

Whether  or  not  the  beast  up  to  this  moment  had  seen 
us  I  am  not  positively  sure,  but  he  must  have  done  so. 
From  a  later  study  of  the  tracks  on  the  gravel-bar  I 
decided  that  he  had  been  fooling  about  in  the  jam,  and 
had  either  seen  or  smelled  me  and  had  decided  that  he 
would  better  swim  the  river  instead  of  crossing  the  bar 
in  full  sight  of  me  and  trying  to  reach  the  forest  beyond. 
Probably  he  also  heard  Joe's  pike  pole  striking  the  gravel 
bottom.  However,  it  is  barely  possible  that  he  had 
neither  seen,  heard,  nor  smelled  either  of  us,  but  had 
chanced  to  choose  this  inopportune  time  to  cross  the 
river  on  some  errand. 

In  the  hope  of  flustering  the  animal  and  perhaps 
causing  him  to  turn  back  or  swim  directly  up-stream 
we  now  shouted  loudly,  creating  what  to  him  must  have 
seemed  the  very  deuce  of  a  racket.  For  a  few  seconds 
he  paused,  turned  his  head  in  our  direction,  lifted  him- 
self as  high  in  the  water  as  possible,  and  surveyed  us. 
Then  he  once  more  struck  out  as  hard  as  he  could  swim 
for  the  opposite  shore. 

But  bruin  had  made  an  unfortunate  choice  when  he 
decided  to  cross  the  river  at  that  particular  time  and 
place.  Although  he  must  have  been  close  to  three  hun- 
dred yards  away  when  we  first  set  out  in  pursuit,  we 
travelled  so  fast  and  the  current  carried  him  down-stream 


A  LUCKY   DAY  113 

so  much  that  it  presently  became  apparent  that  before 
he  could  get  ashore  he  would  be  exposed  to  great  danger. 
The  current  was  our  ally,  and  fight  it  as  he  would  the 
bear  could  not  escape  from  the  trap  into  which  he  had 
got  himself. 

When  we  were  within  sixty  yards  I  laid  down  the 
paddle  and  caught  up  my  heavy  rifle. 

**  Don't  shoot  until  he  is  close  to  the  bank,"  Joe  cried 
warningly.  "If  you  kill  him  in  deep  water  he'll  sink 
sure." 

Of  this  fact  I  was  already  aware,  for  Gibson  had  told 
me  that  only  the  year  before  he  had  shot  a  grizzly  in 
Parsnip  River,  and  the  beast  had  sunk  like  a  stone.  So 
I  waited  until  the  bear  neared  the  shore,  and  meanwhile 
Joe  paddled  a  little  closer.  When  bruin  was  within  a 
dozen  feet  of  the  bank  I  aimed  at  the  point  where  his 
back  disappeared  in  the  water.  I  did  not  want  to  shoot 
at  the  head,  for  I  knew  that  the  heavy  bullet  would  tear 
that  portion  of  his  anatomy  to  smithereens  and  would 
ruin  the  skin.  It  was  like  shooting  at  the  edge  of  a 
saucer  at  fifty  yards,  and  the  canoe  was  bucking  like  a 
bronco  in  the  heavy  swell,  but  I  seemed  to  strike  the 
spot  where  I  aimed,  throwing  up  a  great  splash  of  water 
and  penetrating,  I  then  had  no  doubt,  the  animal's  back. 
He  kept  on,  however,  and  1  sent  in  another  shot  that 
threw  up  another  splash,  though  exactly  where  it  struck 
I  could  not  see.  Just  then  the  animal's  forefeet  touched 
the  bank  and  he  pulled  himself  partly  over  a  submerged 
log,  only  to  fall  back  into  the  river.  I  attributed  this 
to  his  wounds,  and  he  seemed  so  weak  that  for  a  moment 


114    ON   THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

I  hesitated  to  fire  again,  believing  he  was  done  for. 
But  by  another  effort  he  managed  to  pull  himself  out 
of  the  water  over  the  log  and  went  scrambling  up  the 
bank  with  such  rapidity  that  I  hastily  fired  again.  At 
the  shot  he  lost  all  holds  and  fell  back  with  a  resounding 
splash  into  the  river. 

We  hastily  ran  the  canoe  up  to  the  bank,  and  I  seized 
him  before  he  had  time  to  drift  away.  He  was  beyond 
even  struggling,  and  by  dint  of  much  heaving  and  tug- 
ging we  managed  to  get  him  into  the  canoe.  His  weight 
put  the  gunwales  down  almost  to  the  level  of  the  water, 
but  by  careful  handling  we  got  back  to  the  other  shore 
and  soon  had  him  out  upon  the  beach. 

At  first  Joe  was  confident  that  it  was  a  young  grizzly, 
but  a  closer  examination  of  the  claws  and  pelage  finally 
convinced  us  that  it  was  a  brown  bear,  and  not  a  very 
large  one  at  that.     The  sex  was  female. 

Brown  bears,  it  may  be  remarked  here,  are  in  this 
section  of  Canada  merely  a  color  phase  of  the  black 
bear.  It  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  see  a  she  bear 
with  one  black  and  one  brown  cub,  and  Lavoie  says  that 
once  on  Willow  River,  a  tributary  of  the  Eraser,  he  saw 
a  she  with  two  black  cubs  and  one  brown  one.  Black 
is  by  far  the  most  common  color.  The  brow^n  animals 
are  of  varying  shades.  A  skin  I  saw  at  the  forks — from 
an  animal  trapped  by  Lavoie  the  winter  before — was  a 
light  yellow  in  color,  almost  a  straw  color.  Even  experts 
are  often  fooled  into  believing  that  brown  bears  are 
grizzlies  or  that  grizzlies  are  brown  bears,  and  have  dis- 
covered their  mistake  only  after  a  close  scrutiny.     One 


A  LUCKY   DAY  115 

of  the  main  distinguishing  features  is,  of  course,  the 
claws,  which  are  comparatively  small  and  short  in  the 
"brown"  bear  and  very  large  and  long  in  the  grizzly. 
Even  Mr.  Wright,  of  Spokane,  who  is  the  author  of  two 
excellent  books  on  bears,  and  who  probably  knows  more 
about  these  animals  than  any  other  man  living,  confesses 
that  once  he  attacked  with  a  knife  a  supposed  brown 
bear  that  two  of  his  dogs  had  cornered,  and  that  he 
fought  the  animal  for  some  time  before  he  realized  that 
it  was  really  a  grizzly. 

When  the  animal  we  had  killed  was  skinned,  I  was 
astonished  to  discover  that  only  one  bullet — the  last — 
had  found  its  mark.  Evidently  the  first  had  struck  a 
bit  too  low  and  had  glanced  from  the  water,  while  the 
second,  Joe  said,  had  gone  a  trifle  too  high.  The  experi- 
ence helps  to  explain  why  it  is  that  game  sometimes 
manages  to  "walk  off  with  so  much  lead" — the  real  rea- 
son being  that  not  much,  if  any,  of  the  lead  has  hit  the 
animal  at  all.  If  I  had  not  fired  the  third  shot  and  the 
bear  had  escaped,  I  should  always  have  said  and  devoutly 
believed  that  he  got  away  badly  wounded. 

The  final  shot  which  had  done  the  business  had 
struck  just  at  the  junction  of  the  shoulders  and  had 
penetrated  the  body  cavity,  tearing  heart  and  lungs 
into  shreds.  Evidently  the  beast  had  never  drawn  an- 
other breath  or  had  another  heart-beat. 

The  animal  was  very  fat  and,  considering  the  fact 
that  it  was  killed  on  the  20th  of  August,  the  pelt  was  in 
good  condition,  though  not  yet  prime.  The  stomach 
was  filled  almost  to  bursting  with  blueberries  and  high- 


ii6    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

bush  cranberries,  nor  had  bruin  been  at  all  choice  in 
rejecting  the  stems  and  twigs  on  which  the  berries  grew. 
Taking  the  skin  and  the  hindquarters  of  the  bear,  we 
once  more  embarked  and,  on  rounding  the  next  bend, 
came  in  sight  of  Fort  Grahame.  We  had  killed  the  bear 
almost  in  the  front  yard  of  the  fort ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE   LAST  OUTPOST 

The  post  we  were  now  approaching  stands  in  a  small 
clearing  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Finlay,  with  a  back- 
ground of  Rockies  rising  up  behind  it.  Although  digni- 
fied with  the  name  of  "fort,"  it  consists  merely  of  a 
rough  log  store,  a  log  storehouse,  and  a  couple  of  smaller 
cabins.  Scattered  here  and  there  behind  it  stand  three 
or  four  log  shacks  built  by  more  enterprising  Indians, 
and  there  are  usually  a  few  Indian  tents  pitched  in  the 
neighborhood. 

Half  a  dozen  Siwash  and  several  snarling  dogs  had 
gathered  on  the  bank  to  watch  our  approach,  and  we 
were  cordially  welcomed  to  the  post  by  the  man  in 
charge,  Mr.  William  Fox.  Except  for  a  short  interval 
of  about  three  years  Fox  has  been  stationed  at  Grahame 
since  1893,  and  has  been  associated  with  the  Finlay 
region  much  longer  than  any  other  civilized  person  who 
now  resides  there.  He  came  originally,  he  told  us,  from 
Manitoba,  and  he  is  himself  partly  of  Indian  blood.  His 
first  white  ancestor  in  America  was  an  Irishman  named 
O'Connell.  This  man,  being  stationed  on  Hudson's  Bay 
at  a  post  of  the  Great  Company,  contracted  an  alliance 
with   a   Chippewayan   girl    and    later    became    a    "free 

trader."     Subsequently  the  family  settled  on  Red  River 

117 


Ii8    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

in  Manitoba,  and  for  some  reason  changed  their  name  to 
Fox.  The  present  Mr.  Fox  years  ago  married  a  daughter 
of  Pierre,  chief  of  the  Grahame  Indians,  and  by  her  had 
a  number  of  children,  but  his  wife  is  now  dead,  and  the 
children  are  outside  being  educated.  I  found  Fox  well  in- 
formed about  the  world,  a  great  reader,  and  very  obliging. 

When  we  came  to  unload  the  bear  meat  and  skin,  I 
noticed  that  the  Indians,  who  were  squatting  on  the 
bank  watching  the  proceedings  with  interest,  scowled 
darkly,  and  it  was  quite  evident  that  they  were  far  from 
pleased.  To  their  mind  the  Finlay  region  belongs  to 
them,  and  all  the  game  within  it,  and  they  resent  the 
killing  of  game  by  white  men.  From  scattered  sentences 
we  gathered  that  they  were  especially  displeased  because 
the  animal  had  been  killed  so  close  to  the  fort.  How- 
ever, we  ignored  their  scowling  faces  and  blandly  told 
them  that  if  they  needed  meat  they  would  find  the  fore- 
quarters  of  the  bear  on  the  bar  below.  Three  or  four  of 
them  soon  embarked  in  a  dugout  and  later  returned  with 
what  remained  of  the  bear.  For  once  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  killing  meat  for  the  aborigines  ! 

These  Indians  are  of  the  Sikanni  tribe,  as  are  those 
about  Fort  McLeod.  In  color,  cast  of  countenance,  and 
lack  of  beards,  they  are  decidedly  Asiatic  in  appearance 
— even  more  so  than  are  the  Redmen  farther  east.  If 
one  of  them  were  dressed  in  Japanese  costume  and  turned 
loose  on  the  streets  of  Tokio,  only  his  behavior  would 
betray  the  disguise.  The  more  I  saw  of  these  north- 
western Siwash  the  more  inclined  I  became  to  accept 
the  theory  that  America  was  first  peopled  from  Asia  by 


THE   LAST  OUTPOST  119 

way  of  Behring  Strait — either  that  or  else  Asia  was 
peopled  from  America,  for  I  see  no  real  reason  why  one 
is  not  about  as  likely  as  the  other. 

Aleck,  who  is  a  son  of  Chief  Pierre  and  who  is  the 
best  hunter  in  the  tribe,  did  not  go  with  the  others  after 
the  bear  meat  but  remained  sitting  on  the  bank,  smoking 
his  pipe  and  talking  to  us.  I  found  him  to  be  a  really 
superior  Indian,  speaking  fair  English  (which  most  of 
the  tribe  cannot  do),  and  having  some  idea  of  the  world 
outside,  which  none  of  his  people  have  ever  seen.  He 
told  me  that  the  spring  had  been  very  bad  for  hunting, 
and  that  the  cold  weather  had  held  on  so  late  that  the 
"whistlers"  had  been  slow  to  fatten.  He  and  his  family 
had  been  up  in  the  mountains  after  these  animals  to 
make  robes,  and  to  get  the  fat,  but  had  found  the  ani- 
mals so  lean  that  they  had  come  back  to  the  post. 

At  that  time  I  had  some  notion  of  penetrating  the 
mountain  range  I  desired  to  examine  by  way  of  the 
Ackie,  a  stream  that  empties  into  the  Finlay  from  the 
east,  about  a  dozen  miles  above  Deserter's  Canyon,  and 
I  tried  to  draw  Aleck  out  as  to  the  character  of  the 
country  along  that  river.     I  struck  fire  at  once. 

"Prospectors  come  into  country,  scare  out  all  the 
game,"  he  muttered.  "Indian  kill  no  meat.  Indian 
starve." 

Evidently  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  our  going  into 
the  Ackie  country,  which,  we  learned  later,  was  his  own 
particular  hunting-ground.     Lavoie  now  took  a  hand. 

"This  not  prospector  man,  this  government  man,"  he 
said  impressively.     "He  no  kill  game,  except  for  little 


120    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

meat;  he  take  'um  picture  bears,  moose,  caribou,  sheep, 
goats,  for  magazine." 

Alas,  poor  Aleck !  He  swallowed  this  tale  with 
avidity  and  seemed  greatly  relieved  to  hear  that  I  was 
neither  a  prospector  nor  a  hunter,  while  he  was  power- 
fully impressed  by  the  information  that  I  was  a  "gov- 
ernment man,"  for  these  aborigines  have  a  vague  terror 
of  and  respect  for  the  mysterious  "government."  Joe's 
description  did  not  precisely  square  with  the  real  facts 
in  the  case,  but  it  hardly  seemed  necessary  to  disabuse 
Aleck  of  the  impression  thus  created.  So  I  let  him 
look  in  my  Graflex,  arranged  to  take  his  picture  next 
morning,  and  we  became  confidential  friends.  Hence- 
forth any  question  I  asked  him  about  the  Ackie  or  any 
other  region  he  made  haste  to  answer  to  the  best  of  his 
ability. 

We  gave  Fox  one  of  the  bear  hams,  and  we  had  sup- 
per and  breakfast  at  his  cabin,  we  contributing,  of 
course,  to  the  meals.  He  praised  our  mulligan  with 
celery  flavoring  highly.  He  is  able  to  live  pretty  well 
at  the  post,  as  the  Indians  generally  keep  him  supplied 
with  fresh  meat,  and  he  has  a  garden  in  which  he  raises 
potatoes,  turnips,  beets,  cabbage,  and  rhubarb.  His 
potatoes,  like  those  at  the  Forks,  had  been  frozen  to 
the  ground  by  the  frost  of  August  i6,  but  some  of  the 
hardier  vegetables  were  still  flourishing. 

A  trail  cut  out  by  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted 
Police  in  the  days  of  the  Klondike  rush  passes  Fort 
Grahame  on  the  way  from  Fort  St.  John  on  Peace  River, 
two  hundred  and   eighteen   miles  distant,  to  the  Tele- 


THE  LAST  OUTPOST  121 

graph  Trail  and  the  Skeena  River,  but  it  has  not  been 
kept  cleared  and  is  now  practically  impassable.  This 
trail  was  at  one  time  practicable  for  pack-horses,  but 
there  are  now  no  horses  in  the  Finlay  country.  The  In- 
dians of  the  region  have  never  had  horses,  but  depend 
wholly  on  canoes,  dogs,  and  shank's  mare  for  transporta- 
tion purposes. 

At  the  time  Fox  first  took  charge  at  Fort  Grahame 
these  Indians  numbered  about  two  hundred,  but  some 
of  them  have  removed  to  Bear  Lake,  while  others  have 
died,  and  there  are  now  only  about  seventy  bucks, 
klooches,  and  children.  Physically  they  are  a  better- 
looking  lot  than  either  the  McLeod  Lake  Siwash  or  the 
Beavers  at  Hudson's  Hope  and  Fort  St.  John,  though 
some  of  them  are  afflicted  with  tuberculosis  and  other 
diseases.  They  claim  to  be  Christians,  and  at  the  head 
of  the  graves  in  their  well-kept  graveyard  on  a  hillside 
opposite  and  above  the  fort  they  place  crosses,  but  Fox 
says  they  have  had  only  one  visit  from  a  priest  in  twenty 
years.  Unlike  the  Crees  and  some  other  tribes  east  of 
the  mountains,  they  do  not  have  a  written  language, 
but  they  are  able  to  communicate  certain  ideas,  such  as 
where  a  party  has  gone  or  whether  it  has  killed  game, 
by  signs  scrawled  on  blazed  trees  or  stakes.  We  saw 
many  of  these  signals  along  the  river. 

These  Indians  are  still  strictly  in  the  hunting  stage. 
Fox  told  us  that  a  few  had  tried  raising  potatoes,  but 
that  they  had  lost  interest  before  the  crop  was  made. 
They  live  almost  entirely  on  meat,  eked  out  by  what 
supplies  they  obtain  at  the  post.     From  the  store  they 


122    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

expect  to  buy  part  of  their  clothing,  a  Httle  flour  and 
other  luxuries,  and  they  mean  to  keep  themselves  sup- 
plied with  guns,  ammunition,  tea,  and  tobacco,  in  ex- 
change for  skins  and  fur.  As  the  cost  of  bringing  sup- 
plies to  the  fort  is  ten  cents  per  pound,  and  even  flour 
sells  for  twenty-two  cents  a  pound,  it  is  clear  that  the 
Siwash  cannot  buy  "white  man's  grub"  in  any  very 
large  quantities. 

The  supplies  are  brought  in  by  a  freighter  named 
Ross,  who  does  the  work  with  a  long,  wooden  boat.  As 
we  descended  Parsnip  River  we  had  met  him  and  his 
crew — one  white  man  and  a  Siwash — returning  from  their 
second  and  final  trip  of  the  year. 

Bear,  sheep,  goat,  caribou,  and  whistlers  are  slain 
occasionally  and  lend  variety  to  the  aboriginal  bill  of 
fare,  as  do  berries  of  various  kinds,  but  moose  is  the 
staff  of  life,  with  rabbit  standing  second.  Fox  estimates 
that  twenty  years  ago  these  Indians  killed  fully  three 
hundred  moose  a  year,  but  there  are  fewer  Indians  now 
and  also  fewer  moose,  so  that  the  annual  kill  is  much 
smaller.  In  winter  the  squaws  snare  great  numbers  of 
snow-shoe  rabbits,  and  it  not  infrequently  happens  that 
a  camp  has  nothing  whatever  to  eat  except  rabbit  meat. 
This  state  of  affairs  is  considered  the  next  worst  thing 
to  starving,  as  rabbit  is  not  very  toothsome  as  a  steady 
diet  and  seems  to  have  little  sustaining  power.  Still  rab- 
bits are  better  than  nothing,  and  when  they  are  scarce, 
which  happens  about  every  seven  years,  both  lynxes 
and  Siwash  are  likely  to  be  frequently  on  short  commons. 

The  Fort  Grahame  Indian  does  not  care  much  for 


THE  LAST  OUTPOST  123 

mountain-goats,  of  which  there  are  many  on  certain 
ranges  of  mountains  in  the  Finlay  country.  In  some 
locaHties,  unless  very  hungry,  the  Siwash  hunter  will 
not  hunt  them  at  all,  as  they  eat  a  variety  of  wild  garlic 
which  gives  the  meat  an  unpleasant  taste.  Where  garlic 
is  not  so  common  the  meat  is  better,  while  the  young 
animals  are,  of  course,  the  better  eating  everywhere. 
Far  up  on  the  Fox  River  range  I  later  saw  a  tiny  moun- 
tain lakelet  beside  which  some  Siwash  had  killed  a 
mountain-goat  kid  and  had  picked  the  bones  clean. 

The  Siwash  kills  many  black  and  brown  bears  for 
their  skins,  flesh,  and  grease,  which  latter  he  renders  out 
— that  is,  his  squaw  does — and  sometimes  sells  to  trap- 
pers for  fifty  cents  a  pound.  There  are  some  grizzlies  in 
the  region  of  the  fort,  and  Fox  pointed  out  to  us  a  moun- 
tain that  is  more  or  less  frequented  by  these  animals, 
but  the  average  Siwash  "hasn't  lost  any  grizzlies,"  and 
very  few  of  these  bears  are  killed.  Many  a  hunter  on 
seeing  one  of  the  great  lumbering  beasts  has  quietly 
stolen  away  without  molesting  him.  In  hunting  bears 
the  Indians  are  greatly  aided  by  their  dogs,  big  mongrel- 
looking  animals,  in  which  "husky"  blood  generally  pre- 
dominates. 

Two  Indians  have  been  injured  in  the  Fort  Grahame 
region  by  grizzlies  within  the  knowledge  of  Fox.  One  of 
them,  a  hunter,  was  walking  round  an  uprooted  tree 
with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  when  a  big  bear  suddenly 
rose  up  from  behind  the  stump  and  gave  him  a  slap  that 
sent  him  spinning;  the  bear  then  moved  off  without 
troubling  the  Indian  further.     In  the  other  case  a  child 


124    ox   THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

left  a  camp  near  Pete  Toy's  Bar  to  get  a  pail  of  water 
and  met  a  grizzly,  probably  a  she  with  cubs,  and  was 
torn  to  pieces. 

The  hunting-ground  of  these  seventy  Fort  Grahame 
Indians  is  a  region  of  enormous  extent.  They  have 
subdivided  it  among  the  various  families,  like  the  prin- 
cipalities of  a  feudal  kingdom.  Thus  old  Pierre  and  his 
son  Aleck  hunt  and  trap  the  Ackie  country;  a  younger 
brother  of  Aleck  has  the  region  about  the  mouth  of  Fox 
River — "my  country,"  he  later  told  us. 

In  spite  of  the  vast  extent  of  their  hunting-grounds, 
the  Indians  frequently  experience  starving  times.  Moose 
and  other  meat  can  be  dried  so  that  it  will  keep  indefi- 
nitely, and  by  hunting  hard  and  laying  up  a  big  supply 
when  conditions  are  favorable,  it  would  not  be  very  diffi- 
cult for  the  Siwash  to  be  always  well  supplied;  but  there 
is  more  of  the  grasshopper  than  of  the  ant  in  the  Siwash 
make-up,  and  he  suffers  accordingly  Late  November 
and  December  are  usually  the  season  of  greatest  want, 
as  the  snow  is  then  soft  and  deep,  rendering  hunting 
difficult.  When  a  crust  forms,  the  hunters  are  able  to 
move  about  more  freely,  while  the  game  is  greatly  ham- 
pered and  falls  an  easy  prey. 

The  Indian  has  little  idea  of  game  conservation. 
By  preference  he  slays  cows  and  young  animals,  because 
their  meat  is  more  tender,  nor  is  he  likely  to  neglect  an 
opportunity  for  wholesale  and  wasteful  slaughter.  The 
desire  to  kill  is  deeply  implanted  in  his  nature,  and  he 
bangs  away  at  anything  living  so  long  as  his  ammunition 
holds  out. 


THE  LAST  OUTPOST  125 

The  traveller  hears  many  stories  of  the  starving 
times.  On  one  occasion  a  party  of  Indians  who  were 
camped  up  the  Ingenica,  a  stream  that  enters  the  Finlay 
from  the  west,  a  good  distance  above  F'ort  Grahame, 
failed  to  kill  game  for  a  long  time.  They  were  already 
starving  when  a  moose  came  strolling  almost  into  camp, 
but  the  Indian  who  saw  it  was  overeager  and  fired  and 
missed.  A  boy  was  then  sent  to  Fort  Grahame,  several 
days'  journey  distant,  to  beg  a  supply  of  food  from  the 
fort.  When  the  boy  arrived  there  Fox  had  food  set 
before  him,  but  stopped  him  when  he  thought  he  had 
eaten  enough.  Later  Fox  left  the  room,  with  the  result 
that  the  boy  fell  to  once  more  on  pork  and  beans  and  ate 
so  much  that  he  was  ill  for  two  days  and  unable  to  travel. 
When  he  recovered  he  started  back  with  others  for  the 
starving  camp  with  a  supply  of  food.  He  reached  it  in 
time  to  prevent  any  one  from  dying,  but  for  twelve  days 
the  small  children  had  been  kept  lying  in  bed  with 
scarcely  a  morsel  to  eat. 

On  another  occasion  a  party,  including  squaws  and 
children,  attempted  to  make  their  way  through  the 
Rockies  to  the  post  on  Nelson  River,  far  to  the  east- 
ward. They  were  unable  to  kill  game  and  reached  such 
a  state  of  starvation  that  the  adults  agreed  that  if  by 
the  end  of  the  next  day  they  had  got  nothing  they  would 
abandon  the  children  (possibly  this  meant  "eat  them") 
and  make  their  way  out  of  the  region  as  fast  as  possible. 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  fateful  day  a  hunter  saw  two 
moose,  which  escaped  him  and  ran  far  up  on  the  slope 
of  a  high  mountain.     There  they  or  some  other  agency 


126    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

started  a  snow-slide,  which  carried  them  back  into  the 
valley,  where  they  fell  an  easy  prey.  Thus  the  children 
were  saved. 

In  the  days  of  the  Klondike  rush  many  would-be 
miners  endeavored  to  reach  the  new  El  Dorado  by 
ascending  the  Peace  and  the  Finlay,  but  few  ever  got 
through.  The  sudden  incursion  of  the  white  men  into 
their  country  greatly  wrought  up  the  Indians  of  the 
region.  One  party  of  white  men,  headed  by  an  old  pio- 
neer from  Montana,  attempted  to  get  through  with  a 
pack-train  from  Half-Way  River  and,  not  far  from 
Grahame,  struck  a  hunting  trail  in  which  a  couple  of 
Indians  had  set  some  bear  snares.  The  lead  pack-horse, 
a  mare  of  which  the  Montana  man  was  very  fond,  ran 
into  one  of  these  snares  and  brought  the  log  from  above 
down  upon  her  head  with  such  force  as  almost  to  break 
her  neck.  The  white  men  cut  the  snare  and  extricated 
her,  but  half  a  mile  farther  on  she  ran  into  another,  with 
similar  results.  The  Montana  man  then  walked  ahead 
of  the  outfit  and  cut  the  snares — five  more  of  them — 
when  he  came  to  them,  and  the  outfit  got  through  to 
Grahame  without  further  mishap.  The  Indians  quickly 
discovered  the  destruction  of  their  property  and  followed 
the  pack-train  to  the  fort,  and  a  row  became  imminent. 

"You  must  do  something  for  the  Indians,"  Fox  said 
to  the  white  men. 

"The  white  men  meant  you  no  harm,"  he  explained 
to  the  aggrieved  aborigines.  ''They  are  ignorant  people. 
Why,  they  did  not  even  know  what  a  bear-snare  is ! 
You  must  overlook  what  they  did  !" 


THE   LAST  OUTPOST  127 

A  promise  of  new  snares  and  presents  of  tea  and 
tobacco  made  all  serene  once  more. 

More  serious  in  its  possibilities  was  a  situation  grow- 
ing out  of  a  white  man's  stealing  a  pony  belonging  to  a 
Beaver  Indian  in  the  Fort  St.  John  country  down  the 
Peace.  The  Beavers  gathered  together  and  pursued  the 
thief  and  the  party  to  which  he  belonged  to  Grahame, 
and  not  only  reclaimed  the  animal  but  formed  a  league 
with  the  Grahame  Indians  to  drive  the  white  intruders 
out  of  the  country.  The  situation  was  so  tense  that  for 
a  time  the  sword  of  tragedy  hung  by  a  hair.  But  Fox 
managed  the  affair  with  great  shrewdness  and  there  was 
no  bloodshed. 

The  dislike  which  the  Grahame  Indians  have  for 
white  men  killing  their  game  is  doubtless  the  origin  of 
a  story  that  one  hears  at  Finlay  Forks  to  the  effect  that 
somewhere  in  the  mountainous  region  about  the  head  of 
the  Ospica  there  is  a  "forbidden  country"  which  white 
men  are  not  permitted  to  enter.  This  region  is  said  to 
be  a  veritable  paradise  for  game,  containing  not  only 
such  common  animals  as  bears,  moose,  sheep,  and  cari- 
bou, but  large  herds  of  elk.  According  to  one  version 
of  the  story,  two  white  hunters  were  met  at  the  edge  of 
the  forbidden  tract  by  some  Indians,  who  said: 

"This  is  Indians'  hunting-ground.  White  men  can- 
not enter.     There  is  the  trail." 

And  the  white  men  took  the  hint  and  turned  back. 

I  did  not  believe  this  tale,  but  mention  in  it  of  elk 
led  me  to  ask  Fox  whether  these  animals  were  to  be  found 
in  the  Fort  Grahame  country.     He  replied   that  years 


128    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

before  there  had  been  elk  in  some  places,  but  that  now 
they  had  been  exterminated.  The  last  of  which  he  had 
any  knowledge  was  a  lone  bull  that  was  killed  about 
eight  or  ten  years  before  in  the  Ackie  country. 

Sheep  are  not  plentiful  in  any  of  the  mountains  that 
are  readily  accessible  from  the  fort.  There  are  sheep 
to  the  eastward,  in  the  country  around  Laurier  Pass,  as 
Vreeland's  party  discovered  in  their  191 2  trip.  There 
are  also  a  few  sheep  left  in  the  range  of  mountains  lying 
west  of  the  Finlay  below  the  fort.  Some  years  ago  E.  A. 
Preble's  party,  which  came  into  the  Finlay  country  by 
pack-train  from  Telegraph  Creek  on  the  Stickine  by 
way  of  the  Ingenica  River,  heard  of  these  sheep,  and, 
in  the  interest  of  the  American  Biological  Survey,  offered 
a  reward  for  the  skin  and  head  of  one  of  them.  But  the 
reward  was  too  small  to  be  very  tempting,  and  the  In- 
dians have  not  made  much  effort  to  win  it,  though  two 
or  three  times  they  have  seen  the  band.  Whether  these 
sheep  are  the  ordinary  bighorn,  or  Stone's  sheep,  I  do 
not  know;  one  guess  is  as  good  as  another,  and  my  guess 
would  be  Stone's  sheep.  As  this  band  range  country 
south  of  the  parallel  that  runs  through  Laurier  Pass, 
which  at  present  is  the  southern  limit  where  a  specimen 
of  Stone's  sheep  has  been  obtained  and  examined  by 
scientists,  it  is  possible  that  they  may  form  a  link  be- 
tween the  northern  and  southern  sheep.  It  is  also  barely 
possible  that  an  examination  of  the  Omineca  or  Wolver- 
ine Mountains,  which  lie  directly  west  of  Finlay  Forks, 
may  contain  sheep  that  would  be  worthy  of  scientific 
study.     Not   much   is   known   of  these  mountains.     We 


THE  LAST  OUTPOST  129 

saw  them  at  a  distance,  but  all  that  I  would  venture  to 
say  is  that  some  of  their  peaks  are  rugged  enough  for 
sheep. 

For  a  period  of  three  years  not  long  ago  Fox  was 
not  in  the  employ  of  the  Company,  and  in  his  absence 
the  Indians  brought  to  the  post  the  horns  and  a  part 
of  the  skin  of  a  ram.  I  saw  these  hanging  in  the  store- 
house but  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  them.  The 
head  is  a  fairly  big  one,  and  I  should  judge  from  the  skin 
that  the  animal  was  Ovis  stonei,  but  where  the  ram  was 
killed  Fox  did  not  know,  nor  was  I  able  to  learn.  He 
has  since  written  me  that  he  has  learned  from  the  Indians 
that  the  ram  was  killed  near  the  trail  to  Bear  Lake,  at 
a  point  about  seven  miles  west  of  Grahame.  I  now 
regret  that  I  did  not  examine  the  head  more  closely. 

While  at  Fort  Grahame  on  the  way  up  we  slept  in 
our  tents  on  the  river-bank  in  front  of  the  store.  Fox 
himself  had  a  tent  pitched  there,  as  he  preferred  sleeping 
in  the  open  rather  than  in  his  cabin.  Mosquitoes  were 
much  more  troublesome  at  this  place  than  any  other  we 
visited  on  the  trip.  Fox  attributed  this  to  the  growth 
of  grass  in  the  clearing  round  the  fort,  but  I  believe 
there  were  other  causes;  the  constant  presence  of  human 
beings  no  doubt  helps  to  attract  them  thither,  while  the 
great  number  of  dead  sloughs  in  the  country  round 
causes  them  to  breed  more  plentifully  than  elsewhere. 
At  any  rate,  they  were  both  numerous  and  ferocious, 
and  the  thought  that  one  might  be  bitten  by  a  mosquito 
that  had  already  fed  from  a  tuberculosis  or  syphilis 
infected  Siwash  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 


I30    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Any  one  who  has  travelled  in  the  North  Country 
must  have  been  struck  by  the  difference  in  method  be- 
tween the  mosquitoes  of  that  region  and  those  of,  say, 
Indiana  or  Ohio.  In  the  latter  country  a  mosquito 
often  does  a  good  deal  of  humming  and  reconnoitring 
before  settling  upon  his  intended  victim,  and  the  least 
movement  is  sufficient  to  make  him  take  wing;  in  short, 
he  is  often  as  bashful  and  timid  as  an  old  maid  contem- 
plating making  a  proposal  in  leap-year.  Not  so  these 
Northern  mosquitoes.  They  indulge  in  no  ''hesitation 
waltzes."  They  know  exactly  what  they  want;  they 
propose  to  get  it  without  loss  of  time,  and  they  swarm 
down  upon  a  wretched  human  being  like  a  pack  of  wolves 
on  a  broken-legged  caribou. 

Mosquitoes,  "bulldogs,"  and  black  flies  are  the  great 
pests  of  Canada  in  summer.  I  fully  agree  with  Thomp- 
son Seton  that,  if  it  were  not  for  them,  this  North  Coun- 
try during  several  months  of  the  year  would  be  "a 
human  paradise." 

Luckily,  freezing  nights  had  now  come;  the  day  of 
the  mosquito  was  almost  done.  Though  we  were  to 
have  troubles  and  trials  in  plenty  in  the  later  stages  of 
the  trip,  mosquitoes  were  not  among  them. 


CHAPTER   IX 
DESERTER'S  CANYON 

On  the  morning  of  the  21st  of  August  we  said  good- 
by  to  Fox  and  paddled  off  up-stream  from  Fort  (Irahame, 
the  last  point  on  Finlay  River  where  civiHzed  man  has 
attempted  to  settle  permanently.  Henceforth,  what- 
ever might  happen,  we  must  depend  entirely  u[)on  our 
own  resources  and  resourcefulness,  for  there  were  no 
white  men  farther  up  the  river.  I  cannot  say  how 
Lavole  felt  about  it,  but  for  myself  I  rejoiced  that  we 
had  passed  beyond  the  "last  outpost." 

The  day  was  cloudy,  and  there  were  frequent  rains 
in  the  mountains,  but  only  a  few  light  drizzles  fell  in  the 
valley.  I  rather  like  such  days  as  this,  when  the  land- 
scape is  blotted  out  at  times  and  then  the  curtain  rises 
on  new  panoramas,  while  the  rain,  the  rainbows,  and 
the  clouds  are  added  to  the  usual  wonders  of  nature. 
The  colors  of  rocks  and  foliage  are  much  more  vivid  on 
such  days  than  on  clear,  sunny  days,  when  everything 
in  the  landscape  tends  toward  a  dull  brown. 

We  were  now  leaving  the  high  peaks  opposite  Fort 

Grahame  behind  us,  but  a  fine,  rugged   range,  bearing 

patches  of  snow,  towered  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the 

valley,  while  straight  ahead,  in  the  far  distance,  appeared 

a  strange  white  mountain,  so  thickly  covered  with  rough 

excrescences  that  we  nicknamed  it  "The  Wart." 

131 


132    ON  THE   HEADWATERS   OF   PEACE   RIVER 

We  found  the  river  very  swift  and  troublesome. 
Only  two  miles  above  the  fort  it  dashed  between  two 
log-jams  and  formed  a  vast  whirlpool  in  which  we  had 
no  desire  to  be  caught.  However,  by  using  the  track- 
ing rope  in  one  place  and  by  sneaking  through  eddies  in 
another  we  got  by  safely  and  without  much  loss  of  time. 

There  were  many  traverses  to  be  made  that  day  in 
order  to  find  pole  bottom  along  the  bars,  and  to  avoid 
the  dangerous  set  of  the  current  toward  log-jams.  Some 
hours  we  made  perhaps  two  miles  per  hour,  others  a 
mile,  others  a  half,  and  in  one  or  two  we  deemed  our- 
selves lucky  to  make  a  quarter.  It  was  a  hard  day  for 
Joe,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  that  night  he  talked 
loudly  in  his  sleep  about  "white  brown  bears''!  He 
seemed  to  have  a  most  unpleasant  time  with  those  bears 
and  piteously  implored  a  former  partner  of  his  to  shoot 
them ! 

I  did  not  work  quite  so  hard  as  did  Joe,  but,  natu- 
rally, I  worried  more.  The  strain  of  working  one's  way 
day  after  day  up  a  swift  river  in  the  wilderness  is  very 
wearing.  It  was  not  so  much  the  danger  that  troubled 
me  as  the  possibility  of  losing  the  canoe  and  outfit  and 
being  forced  to  turn  back  with  the  purpose  of  the  trip 
unaccomplished. 

We  lunched  next  day  on  a  bank  opposite  the  mouth 
of  the  Ingenica,  a  considerable  stream  that  empties  into 
the  Finlay,  about  twenty  miles  north  of  Fort  Grahame. 
An  Indian  trail  leads  up  this  river  toward  Bear  Lake, 
and  there  are  said  to  be  bars  that  will  yield  a  fair  return 
to   the   miner.     My   chief  memory   of  the   stream   will 


DESERTER'S  CANYON  133 

always  be  of  a  splendid  grove  of  tall,  slender,  wliitc- 
trunked  poplars  on  the  north  bank. 

Late  that  afternoon  we  reached  a  labyrinth  of  chan- 
nels that  furnished  the  most  puzzling  problem  in  the 
matter  of  navigation  we  had  yet  seen.  We  solved  it 
finally  by  tracking  up  one  channel,  drifting  down  a  sec- 
ond, tracking  up  a  third,  and  finally  "wading"  the 
canoe  out  to  a  point  above  a  riffle  where  we  could  em- 
bark and  fight  our  way  to  quieter  water. 

Soaking  wet  and  very  weary,  we  camped  that  night 
in  the  **yard"  of  Shorty  Webber's  cabin  on  a  slough  six 
miles,  by  his  reckoning,  from  Deserter's  Canyon.  At  Fin- 
ley  Forks,  Shorty  had  told  us  to  make  ourselves  at  home 
here,  but  a  cabin  that  has  not  been  inhabited  for  months 
except  by  mice  and  pack-rats  is  not  the  pleasantest  place 
in  the  world,  and  wc  preferred  to  pitch  our  tents  outside. 

The  cabin  contained  a  light  stove,  worn-out  mocca- 
sins, empty  tins,  old  tump-lines  and  snow-shoes,  and 
plenty  of  marten  "stretchers."  The  little  Dutchman 
is  a  good  "rustler,"  and  in  the  big  cache  outside  there 
was,  he  had  told  us,  the  dried  meat  of  two  moose  slain 
that  spring.     Most  of  his  furniture  was  also  in  the  cache. 

We  were  delayed  by  rain  next  morning,  but  by  one 
in  the  afternoon  we  camped  for  lunch  on  a  rocky  beach 
on  the  east  side  of  the  river,  just  above  the  mouth  of  a 
little  mountain  stream  that  came  cascading  down  over 
big  boulders  and  poured  itself  in  a  mass  of  foam  into  the 
river.  There  were  traces  of  old  Indian  camps  above  us, 
and,  as  there  is  a  pass  through  the  mountain  chain  be- 
hind, I   do  not  doubt  that   hunting-parties   make   this 


134    ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE   RIVER 

their  starting-point  for  trips  into  the  region  of  the  south- 
ern headwaters  of  the  Ackie.  In  this  way  they  avoid 
making  the  hard  carry  around  Deserter's  Canyon,  which 
we  rightly  concluded  was  only  a  Httle  above  us. 

As  we  had  had  plenty  of  caribou  and  bear  meat,  we 
had  not  attempted  to  do  any  fishing  since  leaving  the 
Parsnip,  but  a  more  ideal  spot  for  the  sport  could  not 
be  found  in  a  dozen  kingdoms,  and  I  yielded  at  once  to 
the  temptation. 

"Joe,"  said  I,  "you'll  have  to  build  the  fire  this 
time. 

"All  right,'*  he  grinned.  "That's  a  great  place  for 
arctics  sure." 

I  hastily  set  up  my  rod,  selected  a  "black  gnat," 
and  cast  into  the  white  water.  Instantly  there  was  a 
swirl,  a  flash  of  a  finny  form,  but  we  both  scored  a  miss. 
A  second  cast  proved  more  successful,  and  after  a  merry 
fight  I  held  in  my  hands  my  first  "arctic  trout." 

As  the  portrait  opposite  shows,  these  are  shapely 
fish,  with  mother-of-pearl  scales  and  an  extraordinarily 
long  back  fin.  In  reality  they  are  not  trout  at  all,  but 
grayling.  However,  they  are  splendid  biters,  being  taken 
most  readily  with  flies;  hard,  determined  fighters;  and 
at  that  season  of  the  year  their  flesh  was  white  and 
firm  and  delicious  beyond  compare.  Possibly  it  was  be- 
cause of  the  romantic  surroundings  in  which  I  fished  for 
them,  but  it  seemed  that  I  enjoyed  catching  and  eating 
these  particular  denizens  of  this  cold  Northern  stream 
more  than  any  other  fish  with  which  I  have  had  any 
experience. 


A    MORE    IDEAL    SPOT    FOR    THE    SI'OR  1'    Coll.I)    M )  I"    I!E    KorM)    IN    A    DOZEN    KINi;D<»M? 


An  Arctic  "trot't" — they  are  a  shapely  fish  with  a  i.<in(-.  hi.  \ck  fin. 


DESERTER'S   CANYON  135 

Before  lunch  was  ready  I  had  caught  eight  In  all,  run- 
ning, I  should  say,  from  three-quarters  of  a  pound  U)  a 
pound  and  a  half.  With  this  the  supply  seemed  to  be 
about  exhausted,  as  after  lunch  I  managed  to  land  only 
one  more.  These  fish,  in  fact,  are  rarely  caught  except 
at  the  mouths  of  rapid  streams  or  in  swift  ripples,  and 
it  does  not  take  long  to  "fish  out"  such  a  river  as  the 
Finlay.  By  the  time  that  the  Pinlay  valley  contains  a 
thousand  settlers,  arctic-trout  fishing  will  probably  be 
practically  a  thing  of  the  past. 

From  the  way  the  hills  pinched  in  ahead,  from  the 
great  rock  masses  in  the  river,  and  from  the  increasing 
height  of  the  walls  that  hemmed  the  river  in,  we  judged 
that  the  canyon  could  not  be  far  distant,  and  so  the  event 
proved.  First  came  a  narrow  passage  with  steep  con- 
glomerate cliflFs  on  either  side,  but  through  this  passage, 
though  the  current  was  swift,  we  were  able  to  make  our 
way  with  the  canoe.  Beyond,  the  walls  spread  out 
again,  forming  a  considerable  basin,  at  the  upper  end 
of  which  there  was  another  yet  narrower  passage,  where 
the  real  canyon  begins.  There  were  indications  that  at 
the  time  of  the  spring  thaw  the  lower  passage  is  some- 
times choked  with  ice  and  trees,  forming  a  jam  that 
raises  the  water  fully  fifty  feet  in  the  basin. 

On  the  west  side,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  canyon, 
there  is  a  wide  sand-bar,  which  forms  a  convenient  place 
of  approach  to  the  portage.  We  landed  there  and  began 
the  work  of  transporting  our  stuff  round  the  canyon  to 
the  navigable  water  above.  Fortunately,  there  is  a  good 
Indian  path,  half  a  mile  or  a  little  more  in  length,  that 


136    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE   RIVER 

leads  around  the  canyon,  but  as  we  had  much  stuff  and 
the  way  runs  over  a  hill  probably  three  hundred  feet 
high,  night  drew  near  before  we  had  all  the  loads  across. 
Doubtless,  it  was  dread  of  this  portage  and  of  dangers 
beyond  that  caused  two  of  Finlay's  canoemen  to  desert 
him — hence  the  name  "Deserter's  Canyon."  We  ate 
supper  at  the  landing-place,  and  Joe  spent  the  night 
there;  but  I  took  another  load  across  and  pitched  my 
tent  at  the  upper  end  of  the  portage,  in  order  to  make 
sure  that  no  bear  or  other  prowler  should  molest  any 
of  our  precious  belongings. 

While  resting  from  the  work  of  portaging,  I  examined 
the  lower  and  upper  ends  of  the  canyon  and  took  several 
pictures.  The  river  contracts  to  a  width  of  perhaps  a 
hundred  feet,  and  the  water  rushes  through  with  racing 
speed.  The  canyon  walls  are  of  hard  conglomerate  and 
sandstone,  and  through  this  the  stream  has  cut  its  nar- 
row gorge.  The  length  of  time  required  to  cut  the  gorge 
through  material  of  this  sort  cannot  have  been  long,  as 
time  in  geology  goes,  and,  since  this  is  the  only  point 
on  the  Finlay  in  a  distance  of  almost  two  hundred  miles 
in  which  the  rocks  have  not  been  worn  away  below 
stream-level,  it  has  been  suggested  that  the  channel  is  a 
comparatively  recent  one  and  that  the  ridge  through 
which  it  makes  its  way  owes  its  origin  to  a  change  of 
some  sort  during  the  glacial  period. 

However  this  may  be,  the  canyon  forms  a  complete 
barrier  to  navigation  up-stream,  but  it  has  been  run  by 
skilled  men  in  big  canoes  on  the  downward  trip.  The 
passage  is,  however,  hazardous  and  not  to  be  undertaken 


'/.'^TlNi 


W-  ^''  -^-^ 


DESERTER'S  CANYON  137 

lightly,  as  great  boulders  project  from  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  forming  dangerous  swells,  eddies,  and  cross-cur- 
rents. 

A  superb  peak,  which  culminates  in  a  pinnacle  and 
bears  patches  of  snow,  towers  more  than  a  mile  above 
the  canyon  on  the  eastern  side  and  forms  a  landmark 
that,  once  seen  and  known,  cannot  be  mistaken.  Like 
hundreds  of  other  mighty  peaks  in  this  great  province, 
it  is  without  a  name. 

The  basin  at  the  foot  of  the  rapids  seemed  promising 
for  fish,  and  I  tried  casting  there  soon  after  our  arrival, 
but  managed  to  catch  nothing  at  first  except  a  two- 
pound  sapi.  This  result  was  a  bit  discouraging,  as  I  had 
looked  forward  to  this  place  as  one  where  I  might  be 
able  to  land  some  really  big  fish. 

Before  supper  Joe  cleaned  the  arctics  that  I  had 
caught  earlier  in  the  day,  and  threw  the  heads  and  other 
refuse  in  shallow  water  nor  far  from  the  canoe.  When 
dusk  was  falling  I  happened  to  go  down  to  the  canoe 
after  some  article,  when  there  was  a  sudden  mighty 
splash,  and  a  big  fish  went  darting  away  from  the  refuse. 
Thinking  he  might  return  and  being  anxious  to  stock 
up  our  larder,  I  picked  up  the  little  .32  and  stood  watch- 
ing. Out  of  the  depths  of  the  basin  a  big  black  form 
swam  slowly  and  began  to  feed  on  the  fish  heads  and 
guts.  I  fired,  and  the  fish  turned  over  on  his  back, 
exposing  a  wide  expanse  of  silvery  belly,  at  which  I  made 
a  hasty  grab.  But  when  I  was  almost  in  reach  the  fish 
managed  to  turn  over  on  his  side,  gave  a  mighty  flop, 
and  slid  off  into  deep  water. 


138    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Much  chagrined,  I  took  the  rod  again,  and,  casting 
with  a  big  spoon  baited  with  a  piece  of  fish  throat,  soon 
had  the  satisfaction  of  hooking  something  the  strength 
of  which  warned  me  that  I  must  not  be  precipitate  in 
making  attempts  to  land.  A  royal  battle  ensued,  last- 
ing several  minutes,  but  at  the  end  man  and  not  fish 
triumphed.  It  proved  to  be  a  magnificent  sapi,  which 
measured  two  feet  three  and  one-half  inches  long.  As 
we  had  no  scales  with  us  I  could  only  guess  at  the  weight, 
and  my  guess  is  that  he  would  have  weighed  from  seven 
to  nine  pounds. 

As  I  had  to  hurry  across  the  portage  in  order  to  pitch 
my  tent  while  there  was  still  light,  I  did  not  fish  much 
longer.  When  I  returned  next  morning  and  went  to 
look  at  the  fish,  I  found  that  it  had  been  multiplied  by 
two. 

"Why,  Joe,  how's  this  ?"  I  called  to  my  helper,  who 
was  frying  a  sputtering  pan  of  arctics. 

"Oh,  the  twin  of  your  fish  came  out  and  joined  him," 
said  Joe. 

Encouraged  by  the  sight,  I  once  more  tried  casting, 
with  the  result  that  soon  I  had  another  big  fellow  securely 
hooked.  The  fight  that  followed  was  more  lengthy  than 
that  of  the  preceding  evening,  and,  even  so,  as  Joe  was 
pulling  the  fish  out  of  the  shallows  the  line  broke,  but 
the  fish  was  badly  exhausted,  and  by  a  quick  grab  Joe 
managed  to  save  him. 

This  fish  proved  to  be  half  an  inch  longer  than  the 
two  others,  but  he  was  at  least  two  pounds  heavier,  and, 
what  was  really  remarkable,  he  was  the  same  fellow  at 


Three  Dull\   \aki)i:x  trot-t  caught  at  Deserter's  Canyon. 

Note  wounil  in  Ixick  of  middle  one. 


A  i'.i.ar's  handiwork. 


DESERTER'S  CANYON  139 

which  I  had  fired  the  previous  evening,  for  in  his  l).uk 
there  was  a  gash  three  or  four  inches  long  made  by  the 
bullet.  In  spite  of  this  wound,  which  was  l)ig  enough 
to  be  noticeable  in  the  picture  I  took  of  the  three,  he 
had  eaten  so  large  a  quantity  of  fish  heads  and  guts  that 
he  was  positively  aldermanic  in  proportions,  yet  still 
had  been  hungry  enough  to  grab  my  spoon  and  had  |)ut 
up  a  harder  fight  than  had  either  of  his  uninjured  com- 
rades. 

To  me  the  incident  was  conclusive  proof,  if  proof 
had  been  needed,  of  the  extraordinary  voracity  of  these 
Dolly  Varden  trout. 

By  noon  next  day  we  had  completed  the  portage, 
and  had  all  our  stuff,  including  the  canoe,  above  the 
canyon.  The  labor  involved  had  been  hard,  for  1  had 
done  the  greater  part  of  the  carrying,  but  the  spot  was 
so  wildly  charming  and  the  fishing  I  had  enjoyed  was 
so  exceptional,  that  I  shall  always  regard  the  hours  spent 
there  as  among  the  pleasantest  in  my  life. 

I  can  still  hear  in  fancy  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  wild 
waters  as  my  fire  died  down  and  I  sank  to  sleep  in  my 
little  tent  at  the  head  of  the  canyon. 


CHAPTER  X 
TO  THE   MOUTH  OF  THE  QUADACHA 

Above  Deserter's  Canyon  the  Finlay  is  very  swift, 
and  we  found  it  necessary  to  track  the  canoe  a  long  way 
up  the  river  on  the  west  side.  After  going  some  distance 
in  this  manner  we  came  to  a  log-jam,  against  which  the 
current  set  so  ferociously  that  we  dared  not  try  to  pass 
it,  and  consequently  were  forced  to  make  a  rather  haz- 
ardous traverse  through  very  rough  water  to  the  eastern 
shore.  There  was  an  immense  gravel-bar  on  this  side, 
with  good  pole  bottom  along  it,  and  from  thence  there 
were  no  unusual  difficulties. 

Two  noteworthy  landmarks  were  now  in  sight:  be- 
hind us  towered  the  high  peak  that  stands  sentinel  over 
the  canyon,  while  ahead  the  white  mountain-mass  that 
we  had  named  *'The  Wart"  was  constantly  drawing 
nearer.  The  mountain-wall  on  the  east  side  of  the  river- 
valley  was  broken  some  miles  ahead,  and  we  assumed 
that  through  this  gap  the  Ackie  made  its  way. 

We  hoped  to  be  able  to  reach  the  mouth  of  the  Ackie 
that  afternoon,  but  the  Finlay  makes  two  immense 
bends  to  westward,  just  above  the  canyon,  and  it  was 
not  until  noon  next  day  that  we  did  so.  We  found  that 
this  tributary  empties  by  two  branches  through  a  wide 
gravel-bar,  the  largest  of  these  branches  being  perhaps 
a  hundred  feet  across  and  both  of  them  very  swift.     A 

HO 


TO  THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  QUADACHA   141 

small  bush-fire  was  burning  a  little  distance  up  the  north- 
ern branch,  and  at  first  we  imagined  that  the  lazily 
ascending  smoke  came  from  a  camp  of  Siwash  engaged 
in  drying  meat.  Opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Ackie  lies 
"The  Wart,"  of  which  we  had  been  catching  glimpses 
ever  since  leaving  Fort  Grahame.  It  is  composed  of 
white  limestone  and  is  a  part  of  a  range  of  low  moun- 
tains, strikingly  different  in  appearance  from  the  other 
ranges  in  the  neighborhood.  According  to  McConnell, 
this  range  "probably  lies  along  a  line  of  faulting  running 
with  the  valley."  The  valley  of  the  Ackie  is  several 
miles  wide  and  extends  straight  back  into  the  mountains 
for  perhaps  a  dozen  miles,  where  it  is  said  by  the  Indians 
to  fork,  the  main  branch  coming  down  from  the  north. 
Beyond  the  fork  we  could  see  a  range  of  mountains 
higher  and  more  rugged  than  those  that  lie  along  the 
valley,  and  seemingly  very  barren. 

The  Ackie  has  never  been  explored  by  any  one  who 
has  left  an  authentic  account  of  it,  though  there  is  a 
tradition  that  a  couple  of  prospectors  once  ascended  it 
for  some  distance.  If  they  did  so,  theirs  was  a  wild-goose 
chase,  for  the  gravel  in  the  bed  of  the  river  is  largely 
limestone  and  does  not  contain  a  trace  of  gold. 

When  planning  the  trip,  I  had  contemplated  the  pos- 
sibility of  entering  the  Rockies  by  way  of  the  Ackie, 
and  had  tried  hard  to  gather  information  regarding  this 
stream  and  the  region  it  drains,  though  without  much 
success.  Shorty  Webber  at  the  Forks  had  told  us  of 
an  overland  trip  that  he  had  once  made  to  some  of  its 
southern  headwaters;  he  had  drawn  a  rough  map  of  the 


142    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

country  for  us,  but  he  confessed  that  he  had  not  trav- 
elled far  along  the  river,  and  his  information  was  pretty- 
vague,  though  he  insisted  that  we  would  "find  moun- 
tains you  will  not  climb."  On  this  trip  he  shot  both 
goats  and  caribou  and  became  deathly  sick  from  eating 
goat  meat. 

Aleck  had  told  us  at  Grahame  that  at  the  head  of 
the  river  we  would  find  "plenty  goats,  plenty  sheep," 
also  walls  of  ice  "fifty  feet  high."  He  stated  that  the 
headwaters  are  "a  hundred  miles"  from  the  mouth,  but 
as  the  ideas  of  these  Grahame  Indians  both  as  to  dis- 
tances and  numbers  is  very  vague,  we  were  inclined  to 
discount  his  figures.  Otherwise  I  imagine  that  his  de- 
scription will  be  found  to  be  true,  and  that  goats,  sheep, 
and  glaciers  will  be  found  on  the  headwaters  of  this 
river.  The  river  must  head  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  "Great  Snow  Mountain"  seen  from  the 
Laurier  Pass  country  by  the  Vreeland  party  in  1912. 

I  had  hoped  that  Fox  would  be  able  to  tell  us  some- 
thing definite  about  the  region,  but  discovered  that  he 
could  not  do  so.  Like  many  another  trader  in  charge  of 
fur  posts,  he  has  been  content  to  come  and  go  along  the 
beaten  track  and  to  venture  very  little  out  of  it,  and 
his  knowledge  of  the  Ackie  was  based  almost  wholly  on 
what  old  Chief  Pierre  had  told  him  about  it.  According 
to  Pierre,  it  is  a  most  wonderful  country.  In  it  there 
are  spots  where  the  water  is  boiling  hot,  and  once,  when 
travelling  at  night,  he  saw  in  the  face  of  a  mountain 
opposite  a  great,  bright  eye,  fully  a  foot  across,  which 
stared  down  at  him  and  made  him  afraid. 


TO  THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  QUADACHA   143 

If  I  had  felt  certain  that  we  could  find  this  remark- 
able "eye" — which  Joe  and  Fox  thought  might  have 
been  a  diamond — I  would  certainly  have  ascended  the 
valley  of  the  Ackie,  but  I  was  a  bit  doubtful  as  to  our 
ability  to  locate  it,  and,  as  we  were  making  good  prog- 
ress and  still  had  a  good  part  of  the  season  before  us,  I 
decided  while  we  were  eating  lunch  on  a  gravel-bar  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Ackie  to  pass  this  stream  by  and  not 
to  strike  into  the  mountains  until  we  had  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  Quadacha.  I  reasoned  that  by  so  doing 
we  would  be  able  to  enter  the  unexplored  range  almost 
at  its  centre,  and  it  seemed  probable  that  from  some 
peak  in  that  region  we  would  be  able  to  overlook  the 
whole  country  from  the  region  of  Laurier  Pass  to  that 
of  the  Liard  River. 

The  next  few  days  were  days  of  hard  and  grinding 
labor.  There  was  much  tracking  and  wading,  and  the 
journey  was  a  constant  criss-cross  from  one  side  of  the 
river  to  the  other  In  search  of  pole  bottom,  while  we 
won  past  the  long  reaches  and  the  big  mountains  with 
discouraging  slowness.  Each  night  when  we  made  camp 
we  were  invariably  both  wet  and  weary. 

The  river  as  far  as  Paul's  Branch  was  as  crooked 
as  a  coiled  serpent,  winding  from  one  side  of  the  val- 
ley to  the  other.  We  passed  many  high  cut  banks  of 
gravel  or  clay.  Some  of  these  banks  were  honeycombed 
with  the  holes  of  bank-swallows,  like  the  cliffs  along  the 
Parsnip,  and  on  a  few  we  saw  great  clusters  of  the  hang- 
ing mud  nests  of  the  cliff-swallow  {Petrochelidon  lunijronsy 
Say). 


144    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Above  Deserter's  Canyon  for  many  miles  we  saw  lit- 
tle game  sign,  and  at  no  point  from  thence  northward 
did  we  see  many  bear  tracks.  On  the  third  day  beyond 
the  canyon,  moose  tracks  became  very  plentiful,  though 
most  were  several  weeks  old,  the  animals  evidently 
being  up  among  the  mountains.  Twice,  also,  I  saw 
fresh  goat  tracks  in  the  sand  right  at  the  edge  of  the 
river.  The  animals  had  evidently  come  down  from  a 
very  rugged,  barren  range  of  mountains  on  the  west 
side  of  the  river.  From  observations  in  the  course  of 
this  trip  I  am  convinced  that  these  odd  animals  range 
a  great  deal  more  through  the  woods  at  low  altitudes 
than  is  generally  supposed. 

Old  Indian  camps  were  very  abundant,  as  were  also 
cabalistic  signs.  In  one  place  I  found  a  blazed  tree  upon 
which  some  aboriginal  artist  had  drawn  a  moose  with 
his  best  skill,  but  whether  he  did  this  merely  to  exercise 
his  artistic  talent  or  as  a  message  to  friends,  I  am  un- 
able to  say.  From  the  number  of  old  camps  that  one 
meets  along  this  river  one  might  easily  be  led  to  con- 
clude that  the  Indian  population  is  much  larger  than  it 
is.  Before  making  any  deductions  from  such  data  one 
should  bear  in  mind  that  in  the  Far  North  the  evidences 
of  such  camps  remain  for  many  years,  and  that  one 
family  travelling  up  and  down  the  river  in  a  year  makes 
a  great  many  camps.  If  one  cares  for  cleanliness,  he 
will  carefully  shun  all  recent  Indian  camp-grounds. 

There  are  some  tracts  of  level  fertile  land  in  this 
section  of  the  valley,  also  some  fair  timber,  though  much 
of  the  valley  has  been  burned  over,  some  parts  of  it 


TO  THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  QUADACHA   145 

recently,  others  two  or  three  decades  ago.  We  saw  sev- 
eral small  fires.  All  of  them  were  travelling  very  slowly, 
and  some  of  them  had  evidently  been  burning  for  a  year 
or  more.  On  one  range  of  mountains  on  the  east  side 
of  the  valley  a  fire  had  recently  run  high  on  the  moun- 
tainsides, and  the  brown  patches  that  had  been  burned 
over  contrasted  strongly  with  the  fresh  green  of  the  for- 
est that  was  still  untouched.  The  Indians  are  supposed 
to  have  purposely  set  many  of  the  fires  in  the  hope  of 
getting  the  country  into  grass. 

From  various  signs  we  were  able  to  recognize  one 
camp  as  having  been  that  of  a  French  Canadian  named 
Hunter,  who  the  year  before  had  married  a  young  Siwash 
widow  named  Annie.  We  saw  the  pair  later  on  our  way 
down  the  river,  not  far  above  the  mouth  of  the  Omineca. 
She  is  a  husky,  buxom  young  woman,  not  unattractive 
for  a  klooch^  but  she  bore  the  reputation  of  being  a 
great  gadabout.  The  previous  winter  she  and  her 
twelve-year-old  brother  had  made  the  trip  from  this 
camp  to  Grahame,  fully  eighty  miles,  on  snow-shoes,  in 
order  to  participate  in  the  Christmas  festivities  at  the 
fort.  On  their  way  back  they  ran  into  a  blizzard  and 
stopped  for  the  night  at  Shorty  Webber's  cabin  below 
the  canyon.  Shorty  would  not  permit  them  to  proceed 
in  such  weather  unaccompanied,  and  next  morning  set 
out  to  break  trail  for  them.  As  Annie  represented  that 
she  had  plenty  of  grub  for  all,  he  took  no  provisions 
with  him,  only  to  discover  that  she  had  nothing  but  corn- 
meal.  Mush  proved  a  thin  diet  on  which  to  travel  so 
far   through   deep   snow   in   midwinter,   and   after   three 


146    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

days  of  strenuous  going,  when  they  were  still  several 
miles  from  Hunter's  camp,  Shorty  found  himself  ex- 
hausted. 

"You  have  mushed  me  all  this  trip,  Annie,"  he  said 
to  the  klooch,  "and  I  am  worn  out.  Now  you  must 
mush  [prospector  for  travel  or  move  along]  and  break 
trail." 

She  did  so  with  energy,  and  at  last  they  managed, 
half  frozen,  to  drag  themselves  into  camp  and  safety. 

I  decapitated  a  "fool  hen"  at  Hunter's  deserted 
camp,  but  we  saw  no  large  game  on  this  stretch  of  the 
river.  Not  far  above  the  camp,  at  the  top  of  a  ridge 
on  the  east  side  of  the  river,  we  saw  an  Indian  scaffold- 
ing, and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  Indians  leave  the 
river  here  to  hunt  for  moose  in  the  valleys  to  eastward. 
We  tried  fishing  at  the  mouth  of  Paul's  Branch  but  with- 
out success.  This  stream  enters  the  Finlay  from  the 
east.  It  is  about  thirty  feet  wide  and  very  swift,  and  it 
drains  a  long  valley  lying  beyond  the  range  that  bounds 
the  Finlay  Valley  on  the  east. 

For  a  dozen  miles  above  Paul's  Branch  the  Finlay 
follows  an  almost  straight  course  on  the  east  side  of  the 
valley,  closely  skirting  the  foot  of  a  long  mountain  ridge. 
As  we  travelled  northward  the  elevation  increased  on 
both  sides,  and  the  range  on  the  west  became  one  of  the 
most  forbidding  we  had  yet  seen. 

Late  one  afternoon  we  reached  a  point  on  the  river 
where  the  west  side  of  the  stream  was  clearer  than  we 
had  yet  seen  it,  while  near  the  eastern  bank  the  water 
was  almost  milky  white.     For  several  miles  this  strange 


QrADACUA    JIST    AIi()\K    TlIK    Mollll. 


()L  AI)A(  HA    Alii)\  i;     llli;     I'OKK^ 


TO  THE   MOUTH   ()1    TIIF.  OlADACHA       147 

contrast  became  more  ami  mon-  .u  cciiiii.itid.  .md  wc 
knew  that  the  goal  wc  were  seeking  (oiiK!  n«.i  he  t.ir 
distant.  A  little  before  sunset  ue  t.nni)e(l  in  .m  (.i)eM 
grove  of  spruce  on  tlie  west  hank,  in  si^ju  of  the  mouth 
of  the  Quadacha  or  Whitewater.  This  was  the  thir- 
teenth day  since  our  leaving  the  Forks  and  the  twenty- 
fourth  from  Prince  George.  It  also  happened  to  he  my 
birthday. 

I  went  to  sleep  that  night  feeling  well  pleased  over 
our  progress.  Thanks  to  good  luck  and  Joe's  skill  as  a 
river-man,  we  had  completed  our  outward  canoe  journey 
in  a  shorter  time  than  I  had  dared  to  hope. 

We  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  Known.  Before  us 
lay  the  strenuous  work  of  penetrating  the  mountains  in 
"back  of  beyond." 


CHAPTER   XI 
WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA  WHITE 

Take  a  gallon  of  water  and  pour  into  it  a  quart  of 
milk,  and  you  will  have  a  fluid  closely  resembling  the 
flood  that  the  Quadacha  in  summer  empties  into  the 
Finlay.  Above  the  junction  the  Finlay  is  as  clear  as 
any  stream  I  ever  saw,  but  below,  after  the  two  streams 
commingle,  one  can  see  into  it  only  a  few  inches.  At 
the  end  of  August  the  relative  volume  of  water  in  the 
two  rivers  appeared  to  be  about  as  two  is  to  one. 

I  had  read  or  heard  two  theories  propounded  to  ac- 
count for  the  color  of  the  Quadacha.  McConnell  in- 
ferred from  the  appearance  of  the  water  and  from  infor- 
mation derived  from  the  Indians  that  the  stream's  color 
is  due  to  sediment  from  glaciers,  and  he  states  in  a  letter 
to  me  that  he  actually  saw  a  glacier,  or  thinks  he  saw 
one,  from  the  top  of  Prairie  Mountain  far  to  westward. 
Subsequently  we,  too,  climbed  Prairie  Mountain  and 
saw  this  glacier,  but  we  already  knew  that  it  had  very 
little,  if  anything,  to  do  with  making  the  Quadacha 
white.  From  a  trapper  or  two  Joe  had  heard  that  the 
color  was  caused  by  the  stream  washing  against  "white 
cut  banks."  The  moment  I  examined  the  water  I  de- 
cided that  this  latter  theory  was  most  unlikely,  but  Joe, 

with   a  backwoodsman's  usual   prejudices  against   "sci- 

148 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA  WHITE     149 

entific  fellows,"  persisted  in  declaring  that  undoubtedly 
the  trappers  were  right. 

We  thought  it  possible  that  we  could  work  our  way 
some  distance  up  the  Quadacha  with  the  canoe,  but 
before  attempting  it  we  made  a  short  reconnaissance 
along  its  banks.  We  found  the  current  very  swift  and 
noticed  many  sweepers  and  log-jams. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it .?"  I  said  to  Joe,  after 
going  half  a  mile  or  so. 

"We  might  make  it,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "but  it 
would  be  hard  work,  and  we'd  be  nearly  sure  to  have  a 
spill  or  bust  the  canoe  on  a  sunken  log.  Why,  you  can't 
see  an  inch  in  this  water !" 

"We'll  not  try  it,"  I  said  decidedly.  "We  can't 
afford  to  lose  the  canoe  and  all  our  stuff  away  up  here. 
We'll  make  a  cache  and  strike  out  overland  with  pack- 
sacks." 

The  selection  of  a  place  for  the  cache  was  a  matter 
of  no  small  importance.  Not  only  were  wild  animals, 
such  as  bears,  wolverenes,  and  pack-rats,  to  be  feared; 
but  we  were  a  bit  uneasy  lest  human  beings  might  mo- 
lest our  belongings.  A  year  or  so  before  a  man  of  most 
unsavory  reputation  named  "Society  Red"  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  Finlay  region,  and  though  it  was  com- 
monly supposed  that  by  this  time  he  was  probably  dead 
of  the  syphilis  with  which  he  was  infected,  some  one  had 
robbed  Indian  caches  the  preceding  spring.  The  same 
thief — whether  "Society  Red,"  a  murderer  who  had  fled 
into  the  region  some  years  before,  or  some  other  person — 
might   stumble  upon  our  belongings  and  walk  off  with 


ISO    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

them.  Or  the  Indians,  exasperated  by  their  losses  and 
always  inclined  to  look  askance  at  white  intruders,  might 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  get  even  with  Caucasians  gener- 
ally by  retaliating  on  us;  Fox  at  Grahame  had,  in  fact, 
suggested  such  a  possibility  by  way  of  warning.  To  re- 
turn worn  out  and  destitute  of  food  to  a  rifled  cache  and 
to  find  the  canoe  stolen  or  destroyed  was  in  that  remote 
region  not  a  prospect  to  look  forward  to  with  equa- 
nimity. 

In  examining  the  Quadacha  to  ascertain  whether  or 
not  it  was  navigable  we  had  noticed  a  few  hundred  yards 
up  a  small  wooded  island,  and  I  determined  that  there 
we  would  make  our  cache.  I  considered  that  the  like- 
lihood of  its  being  discovered  there  by  human  beings 
was  exceedingly  remote,  while  it  would  also  be  in  less 
danger  from  wild  animals.  By  making  a  portage  round 
some  bad  water  near  the  mouth,  and  by  cutting  out 
some  dangerous  logs,  we  managed  in  a  comparatively 
short  time  to  work  the  canoe  up  to  the  island.  We 
made  a  landing  on  the  side  washed  by  the  smaller  chan- 
nel, and  spent  much  of  the  remainder  of  the  day  caching 
our  stuff. 

As  we  would  be  forced  to  carry  our  whole  outfit  for 
the  trip  upon  our  backs,  we  tried  to  make  it  as  light  as 
possible.  We  took  my  balloon-silk  tent,  weighing  about 
four  and  a  half  pounds,  a  light  blanket  apiece,  some  big 
blanket-pins,  and  a  piece  of  canvas  about  seven  by  eight 
feet.  Perforce  I  carried  my  big  rifle  and  camera,  and 
Joe  also  had  a  little  camera.  There  existed  no  real 
necessity  for  his  taking  his  rifle,  but  he  was  obsessed 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA  WHITE     151 

with  the  idea  that  we  might  get  into  a  mix-up  with  a 
grizzly  and  insisted  on  doing  so.  Of  food  we  had  a 
supply  for  about  eight  days,  but  carried  along  extra  salt 
and  tea,  in  the  hope  that  we  would  be  able  to  eke  out 
what  we  had  with  game.  The  grub  supply  included 
two  dozen  bars  of  milk  chocolate  and  a  number  of  cans 
of  dehydrated  stuff  of  one  sort  and  another.  Our  cook- 
ing outfit  consisted  of  a  small  frying-pan  and  three 
empty  tins  of  varying  sizes.  We  made  detachable  wire 
bails,  and,  of  course,  the  tins  would  nest.  Each  of  us 
carried  field-glasses  and  a  compass.  Also  we  took  a 
hatchet. 

Joe  had  with  him  his  old  pack-sack,  properly  equipped, 
and  I  devoted  a  couple  of  hours  to  fastening  to  my  dun- 
nage bag  a  tump-line  and  shoulder-straps,  using  some 
stout  canvas  and  some  leather  straps  I  had  brought  for 
the  purpose.  The  camera  made  my  load  pretty  bulky 
and  added  weight  that  I  wished  could  have  been  food, 
but,  of  course,  the  camera  could  not  be  left  behind,  as 
it  was  almost  as  essential  as  my  rifle. 

As  Joe  was  an  old  packer,  we  agreed  that  it  was  rea- 
sonable that  he  should  take  more  weight  than  I  did;  for, 
though  I  was  becoming  reasonably  hardened  by  this 
time,  I  had  done  little  packing  and  knew  that  the  un- 
usual character  of  the  work  would  prove  very  trying 
and  exhausting.  Joe  took  about  sixty  pounds,  includ- 
ing his  rifle,  and  I  about  fifty;  but,  of  course,  he  thought 
his  pack  far  heavier  than  mine;  this  not  by  way  of  com- 
plaint, but  merely  to  emphasize  his  transcendent  abili- 
ties, upon  which  he  was  inclined  to  expatiate  whenever 


152    ox  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

opportunity  offered.  However,  by  the  end  of  the  trip 
I  was  carrying  fully  as  big  a  load  as  was  he. 

After  a  careful  study  of  the  lay  of  the  country  we 
decided  that  it  would  be  better  not  to  attempt  to  follow 
the  valley  of  the  Quadacha,  as  this  would  necessitate  a 
long  detour,  but  to  climb  the  range  lying  immediately  to 
the  east  of  us.  By  so  doing  we  would  not  only  be  able 
to  make  a  short  cut  but  could  probably  from  the  top  lay 
out  a  good  route  into  the  country  we  wished  to  penetrate. 

A  short  walk  through  thick  spruce  brought  us  next 
morning  to  the  mountain's  base;  thenceforward  it  was  a 
continual  climb  up  a  tolerably  steep  slope.  The  day 
was  clear  and  warm,  and  though  we  paused  every  few 
minutes  to  rest,  we  were  soon  soaking  with  perspiration. 
As  I  had  expected,  my  pack  distressed  me  greatly,  but 
gradually  we  worked  our  way  up  through  the  spruce 
woods  that  mantled  the  base  of  the  mountain,  through  a 
belt  of  jack-pine,  and  into  the  fragrant  balsam  that,  in 
these  mountains,  usually  occurs  just  below  timber-line. 
An  unfortunate  feature  of  the  climb  was  that  the  slope 
was  destitute  of  water;  our  thirst  soon  grew  very  great, 
but  we  nibbled  at  our  chocolate,  ate  a  dry  lunch  and 
some  high-bush  cranberries,  and  finally,  well-nigh  ex- 
hausted, at  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  reached 
the  bare,  rocky  summit. 

Behind  and  far  beneath  us,  a  mere  blue  thread, 
flowed  the  Finlay,  visible,  in  spite  of  the  haze  from  bush- 
fires,  for  a  great  distance  both  up  and  down  stream. 
Exactly  at  the  junction  with  the  Quadacha  it  bent  al- 
most straight  to  westward,  issuing  from  a  narrow  cleft 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     153 

in  a  range  that  bounds  the  great  intermontaiK-  valley 
on  the  west.  About  three  miles  above  the  mouth  of 
the  Quadacha  we  could  discern  another  and  smaller 
stream,  which  we  knew  to  be  the  Tochieca  or  Eox.  The 
Fox  takes  the  place  of  the  Finlay  in  the  great  valley,  and 
its  sources  are  far  to  the  northward  in  the  region  of  Sif- 
ton  Pass,  beyond  which  the  country  is  drained  by  the 
Liard.  For  several  miles  the  Quadacha  occupies  the 
east  side  of  the  valley,  skirting  the  high  mountain  ridge 
on  which  we  stood,  and  then  issues  from  a  pass  that 
leads  northeastward  toward  the  heart  of  the  Rockies. 

Mountains  lay  all  about  us.  Beyond  the  Finlay  rose 
an  endless  sea  of  peaks  and  ranges,  while  to  the  west  of 
the  Fox  there  ran  a  bold  ridge  that  appeared  to  be  fairly 
continuous  on  top  and  which,  comparatively  low  at  the 
southern  end  where  the  Finlay  broke  through,  gradually 
increased  in  elevation  toward  the  northwest  until  it  cul- 
minated in  some  exceedingly  rugged  peaks,  bearing 
patches  of  perpetual  snow.  We  were  to  become  more 
intimately  acquainted  with  this  range  later. 

To  eastward  a  distinct  disappointment  greeted  us. 
We  had  hoped  that,  once  on  the  top  of  the  range,  we 
would  find  a  plateau  or  at  least  a  ridge  connecting  us 
with  the  mountains  beyond,  but  this  proved  not  to  be 
the  case.  The  mountain  on  which  we  stood  formed  part 
of  a  range  running  parallel  to  the  Finlay  from  the  region 
of  Paul's  Branch  and  ending  at  the  point  where  the 
Quadacha  issued  from  the  mountains.  It  was  separated 
from  the  higher  mountains  to  the  eastward  by  a  wide, 
deep  valley  containing  numerous  small  lakes. 


154    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

On  our  way  up  many  red  squirrels  had  ceased  their 
labor  of  caching  cones  long  enough  to  chatter  excited 
protests  against  our  invasion  of  their  domain,  while  sev- 
eral squawking  whiskey-jacks  had  fluttered  hopefully 
about,  but  of  game  we  had  seen  nothing,  though  there 
were  signs  here  and  there  of  grouse  and  many  old  tracks 
and  droppings  of  moose.  We  had  hoped  to  find  on  the 
summit  tracks  of  either  caribou  or  goats  or,  better  still, 
the  animals  themselves,  but  we  saw  no  signs  of  either. 
Furthermore,  the  mountains  beyond  the  valley  did  not 
look  promising,  since  their  summits  appeared  to  be  either 
barren  rock  or  else  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of 
scrubby  bushes.  Of  grassy  slopes,  such  as  game  loves 
to  feed  upon,  there  was  a  discouraging  absence.  Much 
of  the  country  in  the  valleys  and  on  the  lower  slopes 
appeared  to  have  been  sw^pt  years  before  by  fire,  and 
a  dreary  tangle  of  miles  upon  miles  of  fallen  timber  and 
thick  bushes  was  visible. 

Our  immediate  necessity  was  water.  The  summer 
had  been  exceedingly  dry,  and  as  our  mountain  was  not 
quite  high  enough  to  bear  perpetual  snow,  its  top  was 
as  dry  as  a  bone.  The  labor  of  reaching  the  summit 
had  been  hard,  and  the  fatigue  resulting  from  the  climb, 
joined  with  our  raging  thirst,  made  us  weak  and  miser- 
able. 

In  the  hope  of  finding  water  we  made  our  way  for  a 
considerable  distance  northeastward  along  the  range, 
but  had  ultimately  to  descend  nearly  a  thousand  feet 
into  a  draw  on  the  western  side  of  the  ridge.  There  we 
discovered   a   deliciously   cold    rill   and   camped   for   the 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     155 

night  in  a  grove  of  balsam,  whose  fragrant  boughs  made 
deUghtful  beds.  In  places  the  draw  was  thickly  covered 
with  willows,  through  which  deep  moose  trails  meandered, 
but  though  I  watched  for  some  time  around  the  head 
of  the  draw,  I  saw  nothing. 

As  it  was  certain  that  the  night  would  be  freezing 
cold,  we  made  preparations  accordingly,   and   as  these 
preparations  were  typical  of  our  procedure  every  night 
we  were  in  the  mountains,  I  shall  describe  them.     While 
there  was  yet  light  we  cut  and  dragged  up  plenty  of 
logs,  some  of  them  green;  at  this  and  many  subsequent 
camps  there  were  some  dead  logs  ready  to  hand,  so  that 
the  task  was  not  so  strenuous  as  might  appear.     We 
pitched  our  little  tent  close  to  the  camp-fire,  and  so  placed 
it  that  the  heat  would  enter  the  open  front,  which,  of 
course,  was  always  turned  away  from  the  wind.     With 
big  pins  I  had  brought  for  the  purpose  we  transformed 
our  light  blankets  into  sleeping-bags.     Making  ready  to 
retire  consisted  of  little  more  than  pulling  off  our  boots 
and  putting  on  all  our  extra  garments,  including  extra 
socks;  for  we  rather  dressed  than  undressed  for  bed.     Our 
final  task  was  to  replenish  the  fire,  and  to  this  wc  gave 
our  best  skill,  being  careful  as  to  how  we  laid  the  logs. 
As  our  feet  were  toward  the  fire,  and  the  heat  was  re- 
flected downward  by  the  tent  roof,  we  were  always  quite 
comfortable  so  long  as  the  fire  was  burning.     As  a  rule, 
Joe  smoked  a  final  pipe  in  bed,  and  we  would  lie  and 
talk  about  the  incidents  of  the  day,  our  plans  for  the 
morrow,  or  of  our  experiences  in  the  past  in  various  cor- 
ners of  the  world.     As  a  rule,  such   talks  did   not  last 


156    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE    RI\ER 

long,  for  sleep  comes  quickly  to  men  who  have  toiled 
all  day  up  and  down  mountains  with  packs  on  their 
backs.  Hours  would  pass  and  the  fire  would  burn  low, 
while  the  chill  air  would  strike  through  our  thin  blankets. 
It  is  impossible  to  sleep  well  when  one  is  cold,  and  ulti- 
mately one  or  the  other  of  us  would  become  so  uncom- 
fortable that  he  would  rise  and  throw  on  more  logs.  On 
cold  nights  this  process  would  be  repeated  several  times. 
In  the  main,  we  were  able  to  keep  ourselves  reasonably 
comfortable,  in  spite  of  our  shortage  of  bedding.  Such 
is  the  advantage  of  the  open  tent.  Our  tent  was  a 
small  one  for  two  men,  but  we  managed  to  find  room  in 
it  not  only  for  ourselves  but  also  for  our  rifles,  cameras, 
and  food.  As  a  rule,  Joe  used  the  sack  of  flour  for  a 
pillow ! 

The  morning  after  our  first  night  on  the  mountains 
we  climbed  back  through  a  splendid  grove  of  balsam  to 
the  top  of  the  range,  and,  travelling  along  the  top,  came 
presently  to  a  point  whence  we  could  see  a  part  of  the 
upper  Quadacha  and  some  fine  peaks  toward  its  head- 
waters. Beyond  the  valley  rose  an  immense  mountain, 
many  miles  in  length,  whose  lower  slopes  had  been  swept 
almost  everywhere  by  old  forest-fires,  while  the  summit 
was  a  mass  of  barren  rock.  The  slopes  of  this  mountain 
and  of  the  eastern  side  of  the  one  on  which  we  stood 
were  thickly  overgrown  with  willows  and  other  bushes. 
In  the  valley  itself  a  few  small  clumps  of  spruce  sur- 
vived, and  there  was  what  appeared  to  be  a  tract  of 
open  meadow,  at  one  end  of  which  gleamed  a  tiny  lakelet. 

We  took  off  our  packs  and  for  some  time  stood  gaz- 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     157 

ing  down  into  the  valley  at  a  spectacle  that  was  not  pre- 
cisely beautiful,  yet  possessed  a  wild  sort  of  charm. 
Although  the  distance  to  the  lake  seemed  short,  it  could 
hardly  have  been  less  than  two  miles.  The  thought 
occurred  to  me  that  the  place  was  well-nigh  ideal  for 
a  moose  to  drink  at  and  wade  about  in,  and  I  began  to 
scan  the  water  near  the  shores.  Almost  immediately, 
in  a  little  bay  on  the  hither  side,  a  tiny  speck  that  seemed 
to  be  moving  caught  my  attention.  The  distance  was 
so  great  that  the  speck  literally  appeared  no  bigger  than 
a  fly,  yet  there  was  something  about  it  that  made  me 
feel  certain  that  it  was  a  moose.  I  hesitated  to  an- 
nounce the  fact,  however,  for  on  the  previous  day  Joe 
had  called  my  attention  to  an  object  in  the  Finlay  far 
beneath  us,  and  had  declared  most  positively  that  it  was 
a  bull  moose  wading  in  the  river,  whereas  an  inspection 
through  our  glasses  showed  that  it  was  nothing  but  a 
stationary  log  with  projecting  branches  that  we  had 
mistaken  for  antlers.  In  the  present  case,  therefore,  I 
got  out  my  glasses  and  took  a  long  and  careful  look, 
after  which  I  remarked  casually: 

"Do  you  see  the  moose  down  in  the  lake  ?" 
Of  course  Joe  was  sceptical,  but  after  I  had  pointed 
the  animal  out  to  him — it  was  a  long  time  before  he 
saw  it,  for  it  looked  infinitesimal  to  the  naked  eye — and 
he  had  inspected  it  through  his  glasses,  he  was  obliged 
to  admit  that  I  was  right.  Even  through  our  glasses 
the  beast  looked  so  small  that  we  could  not  make  out 
whether  it  was  a  bull  or  a  cow. 

"If  it  has  a  good  head  and  I  can  get  close,  I  shall 


158    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

try  to  shoot  it,"  said  I,  "but  it  is  ten  to  one  that  it  will 
turn  out  to  be  a  cow  or  a  bull  with  small  antlers,  or  else 
they  will  still  be  in  velvet." 

It  was  improbable  that  the  animal  would  remain 
much  longer  in  the  lake,  for  it  was  already  ten  o'clock. 
The  slope  directly  beneath  us  was  too  steep  in  most 
places  to  descend,  while  in  others  it  was  so  thickly  cov- 
ered with  brush  and  scrubby  timber  that  we  knew  we 
would  quickly  lose  sight  of  the  moose  if  we  attempted 
to  make  the  descent.  For  a  good  while,  therefore,  we 
sat  up  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain  observing  the 
animal's  motions  in  the  hope  of  determining  where  it 
meant  to  lay  up  for  the  day.  It  was  well  worth  having 
come  so  far  just  to  sit  there  and  watch  that  big  wild 
beast  go  about  its  affairs  undisturbed  and  undismayed, 
and  the  picture  is  one  that  will  always  remain  in  mem- 
ory. The  moose  seemed  to  be  in  no  particular  hurry, 
but  after  wading  aimlessly  about  for  a  long  time,  finally 
set  off  leisurely  southward  along  the  shore,  sometimes 
on  the  beach,  at  others  in  the  water.  This  was  not  good 
for  us,  for  the  animal  was  travelling  right  up-wind,  which 
made  it  impracticable  to  waylay  it  and  wait  for  it  to 
pass.  Two  or  three  times  we  lost  sight  of  it  entirely 
behind  banks  or  clumps  of  trees,  but  finally  it  emerged 
at  one  end  of  the  lake  and  made  its  way  through  the 
marsh  beyond,  pausing  now  and  then  to  browse  on 
clumps  of  willows.  As  it  was  now  nearing  a  clump  of 
green  timber,  where  it  would  be  lost  to  view,  we  de- 
cided to  begin  the  descent.  Much  of  the  way  down 
lay   through    thickets   of   scrub    willow    and    other   low 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     159 

bushes,  which  greatly  impeded  our  progress.  At  one 
place  we  came  to  an  opening  thickly  covered  with  huckle- 
berry-bushes, bearing  a  great  profusion  of  the  largest 
berries  of  this  sort  I  remember  to  have  seen  anywhere, 
and  we  stopped  a  bit  here  to  rest  and  eat  our  fill.  As 
these  berries  showed  no  signs  of  having  been  disturbed, 
we  concluded  that  there  were  few  bears  in  the  region. 
When  we  finally  reached  the  valley,  we  were  in  little 
better  case  than  on  top  of  the  mountain,  for  not  only 
could  we  not  see  the  moose,  but  the  seemingly  beautiful 
** meadow"  turned  out  to  be  a  muskeg,  overgrown  in 
spots  with  low  bushes,  through  which  we  could  make 
our  way  about  as  quietly  as  a  herd  of  cattle  running 
through  a  brush  pile.  In  short,  the  stalk  was  a  complete 
failure. 

One  fact  was  deeply  impressed  upon  us  by  that 
morning's  walk,  namely,  that  though  we  lost  sight  of 
this  particular  moose,  the  country  appeared  to  be  as 
thick  with  them  as  are  fleas  in  Italy.  The  mountain- 
side and  the  valley  were  literally  ploughed  up  with  their 
tracks  and  trails.  In  the  soft,  marshy  valley  the  trails 
crisscrossed  hither  and  yon  and  in  places  were  fully  a 
foot  deep  and  a  couple  of  feet  wide;  in  fact,  I  have  never 
seen  in  the  States  a  pasture  so  torn  up  by  the  feet  of 
domestic  cattle  as  were  this  valley  and  mountainside  by 
moose.  There  were  tracks  of  big  moose  and  little  moose 
and  middle-sized  moose,  of  moose  with  small  feet,  broad 
feet,  and  long,  narrow  feet.  One  set  of  tracks  had  evi- 
dently been  made  by  *'01d  Splayfoot,"  for  the  cleft  in 
the  centre  of  each  track  was  at  least  two  inches  wide. 


i6o    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

As  a  rule,  a  moose's  hoof,  unlike  that  of  a  caribou,  does 
not  spread  much,  and  the  cleft  is  narrow. 

We  decided  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in  the  valley 
and  watch  the  lake  for  moose.  I  favored  crossing  the 
valley  to  the  farther  side  and  camping  in  a  clump  of 
spruce,  where  we  would  be  out  of  sight  of  the  mountain- 
sides around,  but  Joe  made  so  many  objections  that 
ultimately  I  allowed  him  to  pitch  our  camp  beside  the 
creek  and  right  across  the  main  moose  trail  that  led  up 
and  down  the  valley.  Here  we  had  lunch,  after  which 
I  made  my  way  south  up  the  valley  a  mile  or  more 
to  a  beaver  pond  that  we  had  noticed  on  the  way 
down  the  mountain.  I  watched  this  place  until  about 
three  o'clock  without  seeing  anything,  but  on  my  way 
back  to  camp  I  disturbed  a  moose  that  had  been  wading 
about  in  the  creek,  in  the  shelter  of  some  willows.  The 
animal  made  off  at  a  run  through  the  brush,  springing 
with  astonishing  agility  over  fallen  trees.  It  was  not 
over  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  I  could  have  taken  a 
running  shot  at  it,  but  I  saw  at  once  that  it  was  a  cow, 
so  let  her  go  unmolested.  If  I  had  had  the  same  oppor- 
tunity a  few  days  later,  I  fear  she  would  not  have  got  off 
so  easily — British  Columbia  game-laws  to  the  contrary, 
notwithstanding. 

After  a  short  stay  at  camp  I  walked  down  the  valley 
to  the  main  lake,  a  mile  away,  and  hid  myself  in  a  clump 
of  spruce  close  to  the  nearer  end.  From  the  mountain- 
top  this  body  of  water  had  appeared  no  larger  than  a 
small  pond,  but  I  found  it  to  be  fully  a  mile  long  and 
probably  five  hundred  yards  wide  at  the  widest  place. 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  yUADACHA   Wlil'lE     i6i 

For  the  most  part  it  was  shallow,  but  there  were  some 
big  holes  that  were  deep.  Both  then  and  later  I  tried 
to  discover  whether  it  contained  fish  of  any  sort,  but  I 
was  never  able  to  see  any  either  in  it  or  in  the  brook. 
As  the  outlet,  which  we  saw  later,  tumbles  down  a  thou- 
sand feet  or  more  in  the  course  of  about  a  mile,  I  doubt 
whether  fish  have  ever  been  able  to  make  their  way  up 
it.  The  rotting  poles  of  an  old  camp  in  a  clump  of 
spruce  made  it  evident  that  the  spot  was  known  to  the 
Indians,  while  the  presence  of  bleached  bones  and  of 
coarse  hair  showed  that  the  aboriginal  hunters  had  not 
watched  in  vain.  From  the  axe  marks  on  the  camp- 
poles  I  judged  that  the  place  had  not  been  visited  for 
three  or  four  years. 

Although  I  watched  until  the  light  was  too  poor  for 
me  to  see  the  sights  on  my  rifle,  my  vigilance  was  unre- 
warded. On  my  return  to  camp  I  found  that  Joe  had 
been  up  the  valley  to  beyond  the  beaver  pond,  and  had 
found  another  lake.  He  had  heard  a  moose  making  off 
through  the  brush  but  had  not  seen  it. 

Next  morning  we  made  a  very  early  start  and  watched 
beside  the  lower  lake  until  after  nine  o'clock  but  saw 
nothing.  Considering  the  abundance  of  "sign,"  this  fail- 
ure may  appear  astonishing  to  some  readers,  but  not  to 
those  who  know  moose.  A  hunter  cannot  pitch  his  tent 
across  their  main  trail  and  build  a  fire  that  is  visible  for 
miles  from  the  mountainsides  and  expect  to  kill  many 
moose.  Joe  had  several  times  admitted  that  he  was  "not 
a  moose  hunter,"  and  I  never  disputed  the  assertion  after 
seeing  where  he  insisted  on  pitching  our  camp.     During 


i62    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

a  month  or  two  in  the  fall  a  bull  moose  Is  a  fool  and  is 
likely  to  disregard  anything  and  everything,  but  the 
"running  season"  had  not  yet  come.  However,  even  if 
we  had  been  as  careful  as  possible,  the  result  might  have 
been  the  same.  To  a  large  extent  moose  are  nocturnal 
animals,  and  as  there  were  a  hundred  places  where  these 
could  water,  it  was  not  surprising  that  we  had  not  seen 
more  of  them. 

If  we  had  really  been  anxious  to  kill  a  moose  at  this 
time,  I  would  have  remained  in  this  valley  until  we  got 
one,  but  the  strong  probability  was  that  any  bull  we 
might  see  would  have  antlers  still  in  velvet,  while  we 
were  not  yet  far  enough  on  our  journey  for  the  meat  to 
be  of  much  assistance  to  us.  I  determined,  therefore, 
to  move  on  and  make  a  stop  in  the  valley  on  the  way 
back,  thinking  that  by  that  time  the  antlers  would  prob- 
ably be  clear  and  hard.  In  a  tree  at  this  lake  we  left  a 
small  cache  consisting  of  a  clean  undershirt,  in  the  arms 
of  which  we  tied  a  few  cupfuls  of  flour  and  rice,  with  a 
piece  of  canvas  surrounding  the  whole. 

Joe  favored  ascending  the  immense  barren  mountain 
to  the  east  of  us  and  making  our  way  over  the  summit, 
but  my  legs  were  still  stiff  and  sore  from  the  ascent  of 
the  range  behind  us,  and  believing  that  we  would  be 
compelled  to  descend  on  the  other  side,  I  was  anxious, 
if  possible,  to  go  round  the  obstacle  instead  of  over  it. 
We  were  now  not  far  from  the  point  where  the  moun- 
tain broke  away  to  give  place  for  the  valley  of  the  Qua- 
dacha,  and  from  what  I  had  seen  of  the  country  from  the 
top   of  the   peak   behind    us,    I    believed   that   it    would 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     163 

be  possible  for  us  to  make  our  way  round  tlic  shuuldcr 
of  the  mountain  and  thus  to  avoid  the  climb. 

None  too  graciously,  for  lie  felt  that  he  was  right, 
Joe  assented  to  this  plan,  and  shouldering  our  packs 
once  more,  we  made  our  way  along  the  lake  through 
muskeg  and  impeded  frequently  by  fallen  trees  to  the 
farther  end  and  then,  turning  off  to  the  right,  struck 
northeastward.  Along  the  lake  shore  we  noticed  the 
track  of  a  black  bear,  the  only  one  we  had  seen  for  sev- 
eral days.  For  two  or  three  miles  the  going  was  not 
bad,  but  ultimately,  on  the  mountainside,  we  got  into  a 
patch  of  burned  timber  and  began  to  experience  trouble. 
It  was  this  burn  that  had  caused  Joe  to  oppose  our  tak- 
ing this  route,  and  he  had  quoted  the  old  saying  of  the 
country:  ** Where  there  is  a  burn  and  you  cannot  see  the 
timber  standing,  it  must  be  down."  I,  too,  had  seen 
the  burn,  but  had  hoped  it  would  not  be  so  bad  but  that 
we  could  make  our  way  through  it,  and  in  view  of  the 
weakness  of  my  legs,  I  preferred  tackling  it  to  climbing 
the  mountain.  For  a  couple  of  hours  we  persevered, 
but  with  each  rod  of  progress  the  going  grew  worse,  and 
it  became  painfully  apparent  that  Joe's  apprehensions 
were  well  founded.  In  all  my  experience  with  down 
timber,  both  in  eastern  and  western  Canada,  I  have 
never  seen  such  a  tangle  as  this  was.  The  trees,  in 
places  spruce,  in  others  jack-pine,  had  originally  stood 
very  thick.  The  fire  had  left  the  dead  blasted  trunks 
standing  like  skeletons;  ultimately  these  had  rotted  at 
the  butt  and  had  been  swept  down  by  the  wind  in  in- 
extricable confusion.     The  trunks  formed  a  network  so 


i64    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

deep  that  it  was  impossible  in  most  places  to  walk  other- 
wise than  upon  them,  and  we  were  rarely  able  to  get 
our  feet  on  the  ground. 

To  walk  thus  elevated  in  the  air — often  eight  or  ten 
feet — with  heavy  packs  on  our  backs,  over  this  tangle  of 
fallen  trees  was  not  a  pleasant  task.  Had  all  the  trunks 
been  sound,  the  danger  of  a  fall  would  still  have  been 
great;  it  was  much  increased  by  the  fact  that  many  were 
rotten  enough  to  break  under  our  weight.  We  were  as 
careful  as  we  could  be,  yet  several  times  each  of  us  had 
slips  that  might  easily  have  been  serious. 

The  possibility  of  a  broken  leg  or  even  of  a  disabling 
sprain  in  that  wild  region,  two  days'  journey  from  our 
canoe  and  cache,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the 
nearest  point  at  which  we  could  be  certain  of  finding 
other  human  beings,  and  more  than  five  hundred  from 
a  surgeon,  was  not  to  be  contemplated  lightly.  At  the 
best,  an  injury  to  either  of  us  meant  giving  up  the  ob- 
jects of  my  long  journey  and  devoting  all  our  time  and 
efforts  to  getting  back  to  civilization  and  safety.  Surely 
these  forests  have  ways  of  avenging  themselves  on  man 
for  his  setting  the  fires  that  lay  them  waste  ! 

For  a  long  time  we  kept  fighting  our  way  onward, 
hoping  that  we  should  reach  the  end  of  the  tangle,  but 
the  farther  we  went  the  worse  it  got.  Whenever  we 
came  to  a  particularly  bad  stretch  I  could  hear  Joe  mut- 
tering to  himself,  and  guessed  that  he  was  cussing  me 
for  getting  us  into  such  a  mess.     Finally,  I  said: 

"Joe,  you  certainly  were  right  in  thinking  that  we 
ought  to  avoid  this.     I  would  rather  take  all  the  dan- 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     165 

gers  of  hunting  grizzlies  for  months  th:iii  tlimh  over 
these  infernal  jack-pines  for  half  a  day.  Let's  try  an- 
other route." 

"I  think  we  shall  have  to  go  down,"  said  he. 

So  we  turned  down  toward  the  valley  of  the  Qua- 
dacha.  Getting  out  of  the  tangle  proved  no  easy  task, 
but,  after  lunching  in  a  clump  of  green  sj)ruce  beside  the 
tumbling  creek  that  gives  outlet  to  the  lake,  we  man- 
aged to  make  our  way  at  last  to  fairly  good  going  once 
more,  and  camped  that  night  on  the  bank  of  the  Qua- 
dacha  at  a  point  probably  twenty  miles  above  our  cache. 

The  course  of  the  Quadacha  from  this  point  is  roughly 
from  northeast  to  southwest,  and  it  is  still  the  same 
muddy,  racing  stream.  Opposite  the  camp  there  rose  a 
range  of  fine  large  peaks  whose  upper  slopes  ran  well 
above  timber-line.  Through  my  glasses  I  examined  the 
summit  of  the  nearest  mountain  long  and  carefully  for 
game,  but  saw  no  trace  of  any;  it  was,  in  fact,  the  same 
old  story  of  either  rocky  barrens  or  stunted  bushes,  with 
a  complete  absence  of  grass.  Doubtless,  moose  fre- 
quented those  mountainsides,  possibly  an  occasional 
bear,  but  I  think  nothing  else. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  grinding  labor  through 
thick  spruce,  brulee,  willow,  and  alder  thickets,  across 
dead  sloughs,  through  treacherous  muskegs,  over  hills 
against  which  the  river  swept,  forming  cut  banks  around 
which  we  must  climb.  Ever  since  we  had  left  the  Fin- 
lay,  Joe  had  grown  glummer  and  glummer  and  made  no 
secret  of  the  fact  that  he  did  not  enjoy  this  sort  of  work. 
No  longer,  as  of  old,  did  his  voice  ring  out  in  inclliriuous 


i66    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

strains  in  praise  of  "Molly  Maclntyre"  or  "Molly  Ma- 
lone." 

"This  is  one  hell  of  a  country!"  he  declared  sullenly 
as  we  were  resting  after  a  particularly  trying  fight  with 
a  muskeg.  "No  chance  to  kill  game  here.  If  you  do 
shoot  a  head,  I  won't  help  to  carry  it  out.  What  you 
want  to  go  into  such  country  for.?" 

I  once  more  explained  my  desire  to  penetrate  into 
the  mountains  and  to  see  the  glacier  that  gave  the  Qua- 
dacha  its  color. 

"It's  no  glacier,"  he  declared.  "White  cut  banks. 
People  in  your  country,  do  they  talk  a  great  deal  about 
what  makes  the  Quadacha  white.?" 

"Not  one  in  ten  million  ever  heard  of  the  Quadacha," 
I  said,  laughing  at  his  perplexity. 

Some  of  the  muskegs  bore  a  thick  carpet  of  soft 
sphagnum  moss,  and  in  one  of  them  we  found  low-bush 
cranberries.  In  many  places  we  met  with  a  great  pro- 
fusion of  the  shrub  that  goes  by  the  name  of  "Labrador 
tea" — a  shrub  that  figures  in  several  accounts  of  arctic 
and  subarctic  exploration.  We  had  seen  much  of  this 
shrub  before,  but  this  was  the  first  time  we  had  noticed 
the  low-bush  cranberry.  The  high-bush  cranberry  had 
been  a  constant  companion  ever  since  we  left  Finlay 
Forks,  and  I  had  often  picked  and  eaten  its  acid,  red 
berries,  a  few  of  which  are  rather  pleasant  and  refreshing. 

Toward  noon,  on  an  island  in  the  river,  I  decapitated 
a  young  willow  grouse,  and  this  day  we  also  saw  a  snow- 
shoe  rabbit.  The  animal  dashed  quickly  into  a  thicket, 
but  I  saw  enough  of  him  to  ascertain  that  he  was  still 


WHAT   MAKES  THE  QUADACMIA   WlinT     167 

wearing  his  summer  coat.  One  of  the  astonishing  things 
about  this  North  Country  is  how  few  rabbits  (varying 
hare  is,  of  course,  their  proper  name)  one  sees  in  sum- 
mer. In  the  woods  along  the  Finlay  and  ahnost  every- 
where we  went  we  saw  a  profusion  of  their  trails,  cut- 
tings, and  droppings,  and  in  poplar  thickets  we  noticed 
hundreds  of  saplings  that  have  been  girded  in  winter — 
often  four  or  five  feet  up,  showing  the  approximate  depth 
of  the  snow — yet  one  actually  sees  very  few  of  the  ani- 
mals themselves. 

Our  camp  that  night  was  again  on  the  river-bank, 
and  opposite  us  there  still  towered  up  some  fine  moun- 
tains. Ahead  we  beheld  a  particularly  rugged  peak  of 
white  limestone,  a  formation  entirely  different  from 
those  of  the  ranges  nearer  the  Finlay. 

A  large  spruce-tree  close  to  our  camp-fire  bore  strik- 
ing evidence  of  having  that  spring  received  some  rough 
attentions  from  a  bear.  The  bark  on  one  side  of  the 
butt  and  on  an  exposed  root  had  been  ripped  loose,  ant! 
the  wood  beneath  bore  the  scratches  of  the  powerful 
claws.  The  bear  may  have  done  this  merely  in  playful 
mood  or  to  smooth  off  his  claws,  as  cats  sometimes 
scratch  boards  or  saplings,  but  I  think  he  did  it  in  order 
to  start  a  flow  of  spruce  sap,  on  which  these  animals 
sometimes  feed.  In  the  course  of  the  trip  we  saw  scores 
of  other  trees  that  had  been  so  treated  by  bears,  while  it 
was  not  uncommon  to  see  thickets  of  spruce  and  jack- 
pines  in  which  dozens  of  saplings  had  been  peeled  by 
porcupines. 

On  a  slough  just  below  this  camp  beavers  had  been 


1 68    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

active,  as  indeed  they  had  been  in  many  places  along  the 
Quadacha.  Most  of  these  animals  along  this  stream  are 
"bank  beavers";  by  which  is  meant  that  they  do  not 
build  dams  but  make  their  quarters  in  holes  along  the 
banks  of  the  streams.  Not  twenty  yards  below  our 
camp,  right  out  on  the  bank,  there  was  a  pile  of  twigs, 
poles,  and  dirt  that  resembled  a  beaver  hutch,  and  its 
presence  in  such  a  place  caused  me  to  examine  it.  By 
tearing  away  the  top  of  the  structure,  I  reached,  at  about 
the  level  of  the  ground,  a  large  cavity,  which  was  con- 
nected with  a  hole  that  opened  below  water-level  in  the 
river-bank.  I  am  unable  to  say  certainly  why  the  beaver 
had  built  such  an  unusual  structure,  but  I  suggest  that 
possibly  fear  of  high  water  had  rendered  it  desirable 
for  him  to  dig  upward  so  far  that  he  had  made  an  open- 
ing that  exposed  him  to  danger  from  coyotes  and  other 
enemies;  therefore,  he  proceeded  to  close  it  by  piling  up 
the  structure  that  had  attracted  my  attention.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  may  simply  have  miscalculated  and  dug 
too  far  up.  At  any  rate,  he  had  most  effectually  stopped 
up  the  hole. 

All  observers  of  the  beaver  whose  writings  I  have 
read  unite  in  praising  that  animal's  remarkable  intelli- 
gence or  highly  developed  instinct — as  you  will.  The 
most  exhaustive  book  I  know  about  beaver  is  that  by 
Morgan,  who  about  sixty  years  ago  made  a  careful  study 
of  the  flat-tails  on  the  Upper  Peninsula  of  Michigan — a 
region  in  which  I  myself  have  watched  the  animals — 
and  took  some  photographs  of  dams  and  hutches  by  the 
old  "wet-plate"  process.     Morgan  tells  of  beaver  colo- 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA  WHITE     169 

nies  that  even  built  canals  in  ortlci  to  be  able  tu  lluat 
to  their  houses  supplies  of  wood  and  bark  for  winter  use. 
That  they  actually  did  this  and  many  other  wonderful 
things  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt,  for  the  beaver  is 
a  very  clever  animal. 

The  point  I  want  to  get  at  is  this:  the  people  who 
write  and  talk  about  the  beaver  are  so  enthusiastic  in 
his  praise  that  I  recall  only  a  few  statements  whiih 
would  lead  one  to  doubt  that  this  animal  is  not  .ill- 
wise  and  past  master  in  the  sphere  of  the  activities 
he  undertakes.  Yet  he  is  not  so  by  any  means,  and 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  our  camp  there  on  the 
Quadacha  there  existed  two  striking  and  conclusive 
concrete  proofs  of  his  limitations. 

Some  of  the  poplars  that  the  beavers  had  been  cut- 
ting on  the  bank  of  the  slough  below  us  were  large,  a 
few  being  over  a  foot  in  diameter.  Naturally  the  ani- 
mals desired  that  these  trees  should  fall  into  the  river, 
for  if  they  did  so  the  labor  of  transporting  their  limbs 
would  be  greatly  diminished.  Yet  I  noticed  that  the 
beavers  had  evidently  had  little  notion  which  way  the 
tree  would  fall  and  had  gnawed  blindly  away,  with  the 
single  object  of  getting  it  to  the  ground.  In  many  in- 
stances the  main  cut  had  been  made,  not  on  the  side 
next  the  slough  but  on  that  away  from  it,  a  state  ot 
affairs  which,  as  every  woodsman  knows,  would  tend  to 
make  the  tree  fall  away  from  the  water,  as  some  ot  the 
trees  had  actually  done. 

Still  closer  to  the  camp  I  noticed  an  even  more  con-, 
elusive  demonstration  of  the  beaver's  limitations.     Three 


I70    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

spruce,  perhaps  a  foot  in  diameter,  grew  close  together, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  triangular  space  between  them 
there  had  grown  a  small  poplar,  four  or  five  inches  in 
diameter,  whose  limbs  were  closely  entwined  with  the 
limbs  and  trunks  of  the  spruce-trees.  A  beaver — possi- 
bly more  than  one — had  set  to  work  on  the  poplar  and 
had  cut  it  completely  off,  but — and  how  surprised  he 
must  have  been! — the  sapling  had  remained  upright;  in 
fact,  it  was  so  intertwined  with  the  other  trees  that  it 
could  only  have  been  released  by  cutting  off  some  of  its 
limbs.  As  the  beaver  could  not  climb  up  and  do  this, 
he  had  evidently  been  forced  ultimately  to  give  up  the 
undertaking  as  a  bad  job,  though  a  lot  of  unnecessary 
gnawing  about  the  butt  showed  clearly  that  he  had  been 
reluctant  to  do  so. 

I  do  not  say  that  all  beaver  would  have  been  guilty 
of  so  foolish  an  undertaking  as  this,  for  there  is  doubtless 
individuality  among  beaver,  just  as  there  is  among  other 
animals  and  men.  A  great  many  people  seem  to  fail  to 
realize  that  animals  have  any  individuality;  even  some 
naturalists  are  inclined  to  deal  with  the  habits  and  na- 
ture of  animals  as  if  each  and  all  of  a  given  species  are  a 
fixed  quantity,  which,  of  course,  is  not  true.  I  would 
not  undertake  to  say  that  one  amoeba  will  not  under 
given  circumstances  behave  exactly  like  another  amceba 
would  have  done,  nor,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  any  one  ever 
attempted  to  determine  the  line  between  higher  and 
lower  organisms  at  which  individuality  within  a  species 
begins;  but  it  undoubtedly  exists  among  dogs,  horses, 
cattle,  and  among  at  least  some  kinds  of  birds. 


WHAT   MAKES  THE  QUADACHA    W I 


171 


When  I  was  a  small  boy  I  had  a  great  number  of 
pigeons,  over  a  hundred  in  all.  To  most  of  those  who 
visited  my  loft  and  looked  over  my  pets  the  birds  no 
doubt  all  looked  alike,  as  did  the  "coons"  in  the  song, 
but  I  knew  each  bird,  not  only  by  its  physical  appear- 
ance but,  in  many  cases,  by  differences  in  individuality. 
There,  for  example,  was  "Black  Pigeon,"  my  oldest 
rooster,  a  splendid,  sturdy  bird,  and  always  helpful  to 
his  mate,  "Old  Whitey,"  in  taking  turns  sitting  on  the 
eggs  and  feeding  the  young  birds,  but  he  had  a  weak- 
ness: he  would  philander  occasionally  with  a  "high- 
flying" female,  upon  whom  likewise  the  bonds  of  matri- 
mony sat  lightly — a  most  unusual  thing,  by  the  way, 
among  pigeons  of  this  variety.  Once  when  I  happened 
to  notice  the  guilty  pair  engaged  in  their  illicit  love- 
making,  I  took  "Old  Whitey"  from  her  nest  that  she 
might  behold  what  was  going  on  while  she  was  engaged 
in  the  homely  task  of  warming  her  eggs.  She  sized  up 
the  situation  in  an  instant,  advanced  upon  the  guilty 
pair  in  no  uncertain  manner,  and  with  sundry  pecks  and 
flops  scattered  them  and  drove  her  mate  home — I  uill 
not  say  for  a  curtain  lecture!  Then  there  was  "Cap- 
tain Rowdy,"  who  always  went  growling  and  roaring 
around,  yet  who  could  never  be  brought  actually  to  fight 
unless  another  bird  tried  to  enter  the  "Captain's"  box. 
Then  there  was  the  light-minded,  lazy  rooster  who  would 
sometimes  neglect  to  relieve  his  mate  in  sitting  on  the 
eggs,  to  her  disgust  and  anger,  as  she  did  not  hesitate 
to  make  him  realize — but  I  have  made  my  point  and, 
besides,  am  getting  far  afield  from  the  Quadacha  River. 


172    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

As  our  supplies  were  beginning  to  run  low,  we  were 
anxious  to  kill  game  of  some  sort,  but  the  whole  country- 
was  either  a  burn,  overgrown  with  thick  bush,  or  else  it 
was  covered  with  thick  spruce  timber,  and  the  prospect 
of  finding  big  game  in  such  country  was  remote,  nor  did 
the  mountain  tops  look  at  all  promising.  Toward  eve- 
ning I  watched  a  long  bar  on  which  there  were  a  few 
old  moose  tracks;  I  did  so  with  the  consciousness  that  if 
I  could  sit  there  for  a  month  I  would  be  reasonably  cer- 
tain to  see  a  moose,  but  that  I  might  also  sit  there  for 
three  weeks  or  more  and  get  a  shot  at  nothing.  ]or. 
undertook  to  watch  for  beaver  nearer  the  camp,  and 
just  before  nightfall  I  heard  him  shoot.  As  a  good  fat 
beaver  would  furnish  us  meat  for  several  days,  I  felt 
quite  hopeful  as  I  stumbled  back  through  the  dark 
woods  to  camp,  only  to  find  that  he  had  shot  at  the  ani- 
mal swimming  in  the  slough  and  had  missed  ! 

Indians  had  told  McConnell  that  back  in  the  moun- 
tains the  Quadacha  split  into  two  branches,  and  on  the 
strength  of  this  information  he  had  tentatively,  using 
dotted  lines,  indicated  such  a  fork  on  his  map  of  the 
Finlay  country.  We  had  already  travelled  farther  than 
the  distance  to  the  Forks  as  shown  on  the  map,  but,  in 
climbing  round  a  cut  bank  on  the  previous  afternoon  we 
had  noticed  far  ahead  mountain  gaps  of  such  a  charac- 
ter that  we  felt  confident  that  the  Forks  lay  there, 

Joe  was  now  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  country 
we  had  entered,  and  for  a  couple  of  days  he  had  been 
wanting  to  turn  back  to  the  Finlay.  It  was  clear  that 
unless  we  could   kill  game  to  eke  out  our  supplies  we 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA  WHIIE     173 

would  be  compelled  to  turn  back  soon,  but  I  was  de- 
termined at  least  to  reach  the  Forks — if  Forks  existed. 
Early  on  the  morning  of  September  3  we  set  out  oFue 
more  through  bush  saturated  by  rain.  About  ten 
o'clock  we  came  opposite  an  immense  limestone  ciilT, 
rising  perhaps  a  thousand  feet  above  the  river;  licre 
we  left  our  packs  and  travelled  on,  carrying  nothing 
except  our  rifles  and  my  camera.  The  going  was 
wretched,  but  about  noon  we  at  last  reached  the  sj)ot 
where  we  expected  the  Forks  to  be,  and,  sure  enough, 
we  found  them. 

As  the  presence  of  the  Forks  bore  out  the  authen- 
ticity  of  the  information  given  by  the   Indians  to  Mc- 
Connell,    I   was   considerably   surprised   by   one   feature 
that  attracted  our  attention  the  moment  we  reached  the 
spot.     On  McConnell's  map  there  is  a  glacier  set  down 
on  the  North  Fork,  and  I  had  naturally  assumed  that 
it  would  be  the  North  Fork  that  would  be  white.     In- 
stead, the  North   Fork  showed  clear  water,  while  the 
East  Fork  was  even  whiter  than  is  the  main  Quadacha 
at  its  mouth.      Between  the  two    streams  rose  a  high 
mountain  ridge  that  appeared  to  be   continuous  for   a 
long    distance    eastward,   making   it   apparent   that   the 
East   Fork   did   not   soon   send   an    offshoot    northward. 
Here,  then,   was    an    enigma    the    solution    of   which    I 
could    only    guess    at;    my    guesses    were    that    either 
McConnell  had  located  the  glacier  in  the  wrong  place, 
or  else  that   there   were  two  glaciers.     At   that   tune   I 
did  not  know— nor  did  I  know  until   my  return  to  the 
States— that    McConnell    luid    seen    the  glacier  on  the 


174    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

North  Fork  from  the  top  of  Prairie  Mountain,  beyond 
the  mouth  of  Fox  River. 

The  two  streams  were  so  nearly  equal  in  volume  at 
that  season  of  the  year,  that  it  is  impossible  to  say  defi- 
nitely which  is  the  larger,  though  I  was  inclined  to  think 
the  East  Fork.  At  any  rate,  the  East  Fork  was  the 
white  Fork,  and  I  concluded  that  the  name  Whitewa- 
ter, or  Quadacha,  should  attach  to  it.  Both  are  good- 
sized  streams,  and  neither  is  fordable. 

So  far  as  I  then  knew,  or  have  since  been  able  to 
ascertain,  we  were  the  first  white  men  who  had  ever 
reached  the  Forks,  and,  in  accordance  with  an  ''explor- 
er's" prerogative,  it  seemed  fitting  that  I  should  give 
the  north  branch  a  name.  Now  there  are  a  number  of 
persons  who  have  attained  prominence  in  the  British 
Empire  in  recent  years  who  have  won  my  sincere  ad- 
miration, and  one  of  these  was  Reginald  Warneford,  the 
young  Canadian  lieutenant  who,  in  1915,  caught  a  Ger- 
man Zeppelin  returning  from  a  murderous  raid  against 
women  and  children  in  England,  and  single-handed  man- 
aged to  drop  upon  that  Zeppelin  a  bomb  that  sent  it 
and  its  crew  crashing  to  earth  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Ghent.  The  exploit  was  the  more  remarkable  because 
the  young  oflficer  had  learned  to  fly  only  a  few  months 
before.  The  feat  won  for  him  the  Victoria  Cross,  but 
soon  after  he  lost  his  life  through  an  accident.  I  wanted 
to  name  that  stream  Warneford  River,  and  so  I  have 
set  it  down. 

The  neighborhood  of  the  Forks  is  rendered   doubly 
interesting  by  a   peculiar   upheaval  of  white   limestone 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  QUADACHA   WHITE     175 

running  northwest  by  southeast.  This  uplicaval  is  cut 
through  by  the  Quadacha,  but  on  the  north  side  there 
rises  the  high  cHff  I  have  already  mentioned.  This  cliff 
is  merely  a  foot-hill  of  a  tall,  rugged  peak  that  culmi- 
nates in  several  pinnacles.  To  the  eastward  of  this 
limestone  upheaval  the  formation  appears  similar  to 
that  on  the  west  side. 

I  should  very  much  have  liked  to  follow  up  the  East 
Fork,  or  Quadacha  proper,  but  conditions  were  unfavor- 
able for  such  an  undertaking.  For  one  thing,  my  main 
motive  in  coming  into  the  country  had  been  to  find  some 
good  hunting,  and  the  prospect  for  doing  so  in  the  Qua- 
dacha region  appeared  to  be  remote,  for  the  mountains 
we  could  see  were  most  unpromising.  Furthermore,  as 
we  had  been  unable  to  kill  any  big  game,  our  food  sup- 
ply was  sufficient  for  only  two  or  three  days,  or  about 
enough  to  get  us  back  to  our  cache  on  the  lake.  Joe 
had  displayed  small  enthusiasm  for  this  expedition  since 
the  beginning,  and,  though  I  was  now  carrying  as  much 
weight  as  did  he,  he  was  constantly  complaining  of  the 
hard  work,  and  it  had  been  difficult  to  get  him  even  as 
far  as  the  Forks.  He  was  more  than  ever  positive  that 
the  color  of  the  Quadacha  was  due  to  white  "cut  banks," 
scoffed  at  the  idea  of  there  being  glaciers  in  the  region, 
and  repeatedly  declared  that  even  if  we  should  succeed 
in  killing  a  "head"  in  that  country  he  would  not  help 
to  carry  it  out.  In  short,  his  attitude  was  in  discourag- 
ing contrast  with  the  cheerfulness  with  which  he  had 
worked  on  the  way  up  the  river.  Remembrance  of  his 
past  splendid  work  inclined  me  to  overlook  his  behavior 


176    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

now.  The  truth  is  that  he  was  too  far  beyond  "Joe 
Lavoie's  Farthest  North,"  and  it  was  clear  that  how- 
ever good  a  man  he  might  be  on  trips  where  luxurious 
beds  and  big  square  meals  abounded,  he  was  not  cut  out 
for  exploring. 

If  we  had  managed  to  kill  game,  I  think  his  attitude 
would  quickly  have  changed  at  the  sight  and  taste  of 
the  good  meat.  But  there  was  virtually  nothing  in  the 
country  except  moose,  and  we  had  seen  no  place  where 
it  was  worth  while  hunting  them  since  we  left  the  lake. 
With  only  two  or  three  days  of  grub  ahead,  it  was  pre- 
carious to  try  the  plan  of  "sit  still"  for  moose  along  a 
river  bar.  For  a  couple  of  days  we  had  hoped  that  a 
mountain  that  rose  up  just  south  of  the  Forks  would 
prove  to  be  a  good  place  for  either  goats  or  caribou,  but 
a  careful  study  through  our  glasses  of  what  appeared  to 
be  a  promising  draw  showed  that  it  was  full  of  burned 
jack-pines  and  brush,  while  the  summit  looked  too  bar- 
ren to  be  worth  hunting. 

Later,  however,  I  regretted  that  we  did  not  climb 
this  mountain.  Had  we  done  so  we  would  have  beheld 
something  twenty  or  thirty  miles  farther  on  that  I  would 
have  reached  if  I  had  been  compelled  to  travel  alone 
and  starve  every  foot  of  the  way  back  ! 

After  writing  our  names  and  the  date  of  our  visit  on 
the  smoothed  trunk  of  a  spruce,  we,  therefore,  turned 
our  backs  on  Quadacha  Forks.  So  far  as  we  knew,  no 
other  white  men  had  ever  visited  the  place  before  us. 
Nor  did  we  feel  that  we  would  encourage  any  one  to 
visit  it  again. 


WHAT  MAKES   THE   QUADACHA   WHITE     177 

I  was  reluctantly  forced  to  the  melancholy  conclu- 
sion that  I  should  never  he  able  to  answer  the  question, 
"What  makes  the  Quadacha  white?" 


CHAPTER   XII 
THE  GREAT  GLACIER 

Before  turning  back  from  the  Forks  of  the  Quadacha 
I  determined  that  we  would  ascend  some  peak  that  would 
give  me  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole  country.  It  was 
clear  that  the  tall,  barren  mountain  that  lay  to  the  east- 
ward of  the  lake  in  which  we  had  seen  the  moose  was 
well  fitted  for  this  purpose,  and,  moreover,  it  lay  on  the 
homeward  way.  I  felt  confident  that  if  there  were  any 
striking  features  of  the  ranges,  we  would  be  able  to  see 
them  from  its  summit. 

Both  our  packs,  and  especially  Joe's,  were  much  lighter 

than  when  we  set  out  on  the  Quadacha  trip,  and  we 

were  also  able  to  avoid  some  of  the  muskegs,  burns,  and 

other  bad  going  that  had  delayed  us  on  the  way  out. 

We  travelled  very  late  on  the  afternoon  we  turned  back, 

and  by  nightfall  were  fully  ten  miles  from  the  Forks. 

As  I  had  been  lucky  enough  to  shoot  a  willow-grouse, 

we  had   a  good   supper  and   slept  well.     We   made   an 

early  start  next  morning,  for  we  realized  that  we  must 

not  only  reach  and  climb  Observation  Peak,  as  I  shall 

henceforth  call  the  mountain  we  meant  to  climb,  but  it 

was  extremely  probable  that  we  would   find   no  water 

on  the  top,  and  would  be  forced  to  descend  it  also.     We 

were  on  our  way  by  seven  o'clock,   and   by  half  past 

eight  we  had  reached  the  base  of  the  mountain.     From 

that  point  there  ran  upward   for  many  miles  a  rather 

178 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  lycy 

steep,  timbered  slope,  which  was  succeeded,  about  fifteen 
hundred  feet  below  the  summit,  by  a  bare,  steep  pitch. 
A  little  way  up  we  came  to  a  rushing,  tumbling  brook 
that  tore  down  through  a  rocky  gorge. 

"Last  chance  for  a  drink,"  said  Joe,  "better  fill  up." 

And  "fill  up"  we  did. 

"Fm  going  to  take  a  little  with  me,"  said  I,  taking 
out  of  my  pack  a  small  tin  that  had  contained  dehy- 
drated onions.     "You  had  better  do  the  same." 

But  he  thought  otherwise,  and  we  set  out  once  more. 
We  found  the  climb  hard  work,  for  the  slope,  which  had 
appeared  level  from  below,  was  badly  broken.  To 
avoid  a  draw  that  terminated  in  a  terrific  cliff,  we  were 
forced  to  the  left,  and  had  to  make  the  ascent  of  a  lower 
shoulder,  between  which  and  the  main  peak  lay  a  deep, 
narrow  cleft.  We  descended  into  this  cleft,  and  there 
stopped  for  lunch.  The  cleft  formed  a  sort  of  high  pass 
between  the  Quadacha  country  and  an  elevated  valley 
that  drains  southward  into  Paul's  Branch.  On  both 
sides  the  slopes  were  thickly  timbered  with  beautiful 
balsams,  but  the  bottom  of  the  pass,  for  a  width  of  per- 
haps two  rods,  was  completely  free  of  either  timber  or 
bushes,  and  was  overgrown  with  bunch-grass. 

If  we  had  had  plenty  of  water  and  had  not  been  so 
weary,  the  spot  would  have  been  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful ones  we  had  yet  seen.  But  the  nearest  water,  except 
for  the  half-pint  in  my  little  can,  was  a  thousand  feet 
below  us  at  the  foot  of  a  cliff,  and  I  was  so  nearly  ex- 
hausted that  I  seriously  doubted  whether  I  would  be 
able  to  negotiate  the  two  thousand  feet  of  altitude  that 


i8o    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

still  remained  between  us  and  the  summit.  My  ex- 
haustion was  not  due  solely  to  that  day's  effort,  but  was 
the  culmination  of  days  of  packing  a  heavy  load  over 
rough  country.  It  was  not  that  I  lacked  strength  gen- 
erally, but  that  my  legs  were  rebelling  against  climbing. 
On  level  ground  I  could  still  make  good  progress; 
strangely  enough,  on  steep  slopes  where  I  was  forced 
to  use  my  hands  as  well  as  my  legs  it  was  not  so  bad; 
on  any  slope  where  I  could  step  flat-footed  I  did  fairly; 
but  on  a  slope  where  I  was  compelled  to  walk  on  my  toes 
the  exhausted  leg  muscles  that  I  must  use  in  making 
my  feet  and  toes  rigid  protested  against  their  work. 

However,  with  my  bit  of  water  I  made  a  small  cup 
of  very  strong  tea,  and  this  seemed  to  put  new  life  into 
me — even  more  than  did  the  rest  of  the  lunch.  I  sum- 
moned all  my  will-power  into  action,  put  my  leg  muscles 
under  martial  law,  and  swore  I  would  get  to  the  top. 
More  quickly  and  with  greater  ease  than  I  had  dared 
to  hope,  I  managed  to  bid  adieu  to  the  last  balsam  and 
pass  timber-line,  with  its  gnarled  trees,  stunted  by  bitter 
cold,  and  twisted  by  ten  thousand  storms.  Thence- 
forward the  ascent  was  very  steep,  up  a  slope  composed 
mainly  of  slate,  in  places  broken  up  into  scree  by  the 
action  of  freezing  and  thawing,  in  places  remaining  in. 
rough  cliffs.  Several  times  we  noticed  some  very  good- 
looking  quartz,  though  we  gave  scant  heed  to  it.  If  a 
railway  should  ever  run  up  the  Finlay  Valley,  it  may 
be  worth  some  prospector's  while  to  examine  this  moun- 
tain more  carefully. 

Four  times  there  towered  above  us  what  we  thought 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  i8i 

was  the  top,  and  three  times  on  reaching  that  "toj)" 
we  found  that  it  was  only  a  bench,  and  that  beyond  it 
the  mountain  still  rose  upward.  The  fourth  time,  how- 
ever, we  at  last  gained  the  summit,  wliich  proved  to  be 
rather  a  long  narrow  ridge  than  a  peak. 

The  view  that  burst  upon  our  sight  was  well  worth 
all  the  hard  effort  the  climb  had  cost  us.  To  northwest- 
ward lay  the  upper  Finlay  and  its  tributary  the  Fo.x, 
winding  like  silver  ribbons  along  the  great  Intermontane 
Valley,  and  through  the  passes  between  rugged  ranges; 
to  southward  we  could  even  see  the  peak  that  stands 
guard  over  Deserter's  Canyon.  In  every  direction  there 
unfolded  a  magnificent  panorama  of  mountains,  name- 
less ranges,  hundreds  of  nameless  peaks,  taller  than  any 
in  the  whole  Appalachian  system.  Even  Joe,  who 
hitherto  had  disliked  this  Quadacha  trip,  waxed  en- 
thusiastic. 

"I  have  never  before  seen  anything  to  equal  it,"  he 
declared.  And  he  spoke  from  a  knowledge  of  the  moun- 
tain region  of  southern  British  Columbia  and  Washington. 

It  was  to  eastward  and  northeastward  that  we  turned 
our  main  attention.  For  we  had  attained  a  point  of 
vantage  whence  we  could  overlook  the  whole  of  the 
unexplored  region  of  the  Rockies  from  Laurier  Pass  on 
the  south,  to  the  Liard  River  on  the  north.  If  the 
region  possessed  a  great  secret,  to  us  it  must  now  be 
unfolded. 

What  did  we  see  .'' 

A  glance  showed  us  that  there  was  no  heaven-kissing 
peak  "taller  than  Mount  Robson." 


i82    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

There  were,  however,  several  magnificent  mountains 
higher  than  any  along  the  Finlay.  Much  the  finest  of 
all  these  lay  far  to  the  northeast.  It  was  a  vast  affair, 
with  three  great  summits,  two  of  them  peaks,  the  third 
and  tallest  an  immense  block. 

This  mountain  was  big  enough  to  have  aroused  our 
enthusiasm,  yet  we  gave  comparatively  scant  heed  to  it. 

For  down  the  south  slope  of  it,  filling  a  great  valley, 
miles  wide  and  miles  long,  there  flowed  a  perfectly  im- 
mense, glistening  glacier. 

"That  is  what  makes  the  Quadacha  white,"  conceded 
Joe. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  I  had  realized 
ever  since  seeing  the  river  that  it  would  require  a  good- 
sized  rock-mill  to  grind  up  enough  silt  to  color  such  a 
large  stream  as  the  Quadacha,  but  here  was  a  mill  amply 
big  enough  for  the  job. 

We  were  forty  or  fifty  miles  from  it,  eighty  at  least 
as  one  would  travel,  yet  it  loomed  up  far  and  away  the 
most  notable  phenomenon  in  that  whole  magnificent 
panorama.  It  is  the  biggest  thing  in  the  whole  Finlay 
country.  I  venture  to  predict  that  when  the  glacier  has 
been  more  closely  examined  it  will  be  found  to  be  one 
of  the  biggest,  if  not  the  very  biggest,  in  the  whole  Rocky 
Mountain  system. 

From  our  post  on  Observation  Peak  the  great  glacier 
lay  10°  east  of  north  by  compass,  but  since  the  compass 
in  this  region  has  a  variation  of  33°  to  eastward,  the 
glacier  really  lay  43°  east  of  north. 

The  glacier  is,  I  repeat  for  emphasis,  a  vast  river  of 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  jH-; 

Ice,  flowing  down  a  great  wide  valley  between  tun  tn.Mni- 
tains.  We  were  too  far  to  make  out  much  in  detail, 
but,  looking  through  our  glasses,  the  ice  appeared  to  be 
of  great  height,  and  the  snow-field  behind  it  of  immense 
extent.  Beyond  question,  the  whole  is  an  immense  affair 
covering  many  square  miles  of  territory. 

In  addition  to  the  great  peak  and  the  big  glacier,  we 
discerned  several  other  features  of  interest.  On  the 
North  Fork  of  the  Quadacha,  or  Warneford  River,  there 
is  at  least  one,  perhaps  two  or  three  much  smaller  gla- 
ciers. The  most  notable  of  these  lay  12°  west  of  north  by 
compass,  which  means  about  21°  east  of  the  true  north. 
Even  this  glacier  would  be  considered  notable  in  the 
Rockies  of  the  United  States,  but  it  seemed  a  pygmy 
compared  with  the  big  one.  About  30^^  south  of  the  true 
east,  and  apparently  on  the  extreme  eastern  side  of 
the  system,  we  could  see  a  fine,  snow-capped  mountain, 
which  I  venture  to  guess  is  the  "Great  Snow  Mountain" 
seen  by  Vreeland  from  the  Laurier  Pass  country,  and  set 
down  by  him  on  his  map.  The  mountains  on  the  east- 
ern side  of  the  system  bore  a  great  deal  more  snow  than 
those  on  the  western  side,  though  they  are,  with  two  or 
three  exceptions,  not  a  great  deal  taller.  The  reason  is 
of  course,  that  they  are  partly  cut  oflP  from  the  warm 
winds  from  the  Pacific.  These  winds  make  the  season 
in  the  Finlay  country  much  later  than  it  is  at  the  same 
elevation  in  western  Alberta  even  as  far  south  as  the 
headwaters  of  the  Saskatchewan.  In  the  latter  region 
early  in  September,  1910,  we  were  almost  constantly  in 
snow,  even  in  the  river-vallevs,  at  an  elevation  of  a  little 


i84    ON   THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

more  than  five  thousand  feet,  while  peaks  seven  or  eight 
thousand  feet  high  were  all  the  time  covered  with 
snow.  On  the  Quadacha,  several  hundred  miles  farther 
north,  peaks  seven  or  eight  thousand  feet  high  were  not 
only  often  destitute  of  snow  but  also  of  water.  It  was 
only  toward  the  last  of  our  trip  that  such  peaks  were 
blanketed  with  a  heavy  snowfall. 

The  ranges  run  parallel  to  the  Finlay.  First  comes 
a  range  of  moderate  height,  tall  enough  to  reach  well 
above  timber-line,  then  a  valley,  then  a  higher  range  of 
the  same  general  formation,  then  a  second  valley.  Be- 
yond this  valley  lies  a  third  range  of  entirely  different 
nature,  a  narrow,  extremely  rugged  range  of  whitish 
limestone,  which  seems  to  have  been  thrust  right  up 
through  the  system.  This  range  is  broken  below  Quada- 
cha Forks  by  the  Quadacha  River,  but  it  reappears  be- 
yond and  runs  north  as  far  as  the  eye  can  follow  it. 
To  the  southeast  also  it  extends  at  least  as  far  as  we 
could  see.  The  range  is  easily  recognizable  in  both  direc- 
tions because  of  its  conspicuous  color,  and  also  because 
its  peaks  are  much  more  jagged  than  those  on  either 
side  of  it. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  we  reached  the  top,  and 
the  sky  was  overcast  by  broken  clouds,  though  fortu- 
nately most  of  them  hung  high.  I  took  several  exposures 
of  the  most  striking  features  of  the  panorama,  and  par- 
ticularly of  the  great  glacier.  But  the  conditions  of 
light  were  unfavorable,  and,  in  my  anxiety  to  allow  for 
the  lateness  of  the  hour  and  the  clouded  state  of  the  sky, 
I  ran  to  the  other  extreme  and  overexposed.     When  the 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  185 

films  were  developed  on  my  return  lionic,  the  mountains 
appeared  with  fair  distinctness,  and  also  the  valley  of 
the  winding  Quadacha,  but  the  glacier  was  hardly  dis- 
cernible on  the  prints  at  all.  Any  one  who  has  experi- 
enced the  difficulty  of  securing  good  photographs  of  dis- 
tant snow  peaks  will  readily  understand  the  reason  for 
my  failure — particularly  when  I  add  that  at  no  time  was 
I  able  to  take  an  exposure  of  the  glacier  when  the  sun 
was  shining  on  all  of  it.  If,  because  I  am  unable  to 
present  a  good  picture,  any  one  is  inclined  to  he  sceptical, 
I  merely  paraphrase  the  words  of  a  well-know  n  j)ersonage 
concerning  a  certain  "River  of  Doubt,"  and  say  that  the 
"Glacier  is  still  there  !" 

I  venture  to  hope  that  some  specialist  in  glaciers  will 
be  moved  to  undertake  an  expedition  to  examine  the 
phenomenon  more  closely  and  in  a  scientific  manner.  I 
am  confident  that  the  results  would  well  repay  his  ex- 
penditure of  time  and  money.  Even  Joe,  who  had  be- 
trayed not  the  slightest  interest  hitherto  in  hunting 
glaciers,  waxed  so  enthusiastic  over  it  that  he  declared: 

"I  would  give  a  month's  wages  to  reach  it !" 

I  hope  some  day  again  to  undertake  the  long  and 
toilsome  river  journey  just  for  a  chance  to  reach  that 
magnificent  river  of  ice  and  ascertain  its  dimensions,  tor 
the  desire  to  do  so  has  grown  upon  me  since  my  return. 
But  I  fear  that  some  other  man  than  I  will  stand  first 
beneath  that  mighty  wall  of  ice;  some  other  man's  feet 
will  first  press  the  wide  snow-field  that  feeds  it. 

One  right  I  claim — the  right  to  name  the  mountain 
that   rises   beside   the   glacier.     In    doing   so   I   wish    to 


i86    ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE  RIVER 

honor  the  ablest  Briton  of  his  time,  one  of  the  ablest  of 
all  times,  the  William  Pitt  of  the  mighty  world  conflict, 
a  man  equally  able  to  solve  mom.entous  problems  in 
peace  and  war.  I  wish  it  to  be  called  Mount  Lloyd 
George. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

WE  TRY  THE  FOX   RIVER   RANGE 

Before  sunset  we  arrived  at  our  little  cache  and  the 
old  Indian  camp  in  a  clump  of  spruce  beside  the  lake. 
We  had  expected  to  remain  in  this  valley  for  a  couple  of 
days  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  bull  moose,  but  as  watching 
that  evening  and  next  morning  proved  unproductive,  I 
set  out  to  reconnoitre  and  discovered  that  there  were  no 
recent  tracks  anywhere  in  the  vicinity.  I  thereupon  de- 
cided to  move  farther  up  the  valley,  but  neither  on  the 
way,  at  the  beaver  pond,  nor  at  another  lake  beyond  did 
I  find  any  fresh  tracks.  In  the  shallow  water  of  the  up- 
per lake  I  saw  the  head  and  antlers  of  a  bull  that  had 
probably  been  shot  by  Indians  a  year  or  two  before. 
The  antlers  were  in  a  good  state  of  preservation,  were 
exceedingly  symmetrical,  and  had  a  spread  of  exactly 
four  feet.  From  what  I  could  learn  this  was  a  big  head 
for  the  Finlay  country;  for  some  reason  the  Finlay  moose 
do  not  grow  big  heads.  It  is  possible  that  the  moose 
had  left  the  valley  because  of  the  changing  season,  but 
it  is  much  more  probable  that  we  had  scared  them  out 
on  our  way  in.  At  least  two  had  seen  us,  while  our  camp- 
fire,  built  as  it  was  right  across  their  trail,  had  been 
visible  from  the  mountain  sides  for  a  long  distance. 
Joe  insisted  that  some  of  the  tracks  were  fresh,  but, 
great  as  are  his  merits  as  a  canoeman,  I  had  discovered 

187 


i88    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

that  he  is  not  infalhble  in  hunting  matters,  and  so  dis- 
regarded his  arguments,  somewhat  to  his  indignation. 
Though  he  has  killed  much  game,  he  is  what  may  be 
termed  a  "river  hunter";  that  is,  one  who  travels  up 
and  down  rivers  shooting  whatever  game  he  may  see. 
Such  hunting  calls  for  no  special  knowledge  of  animals 
or  skill  in  finding  them,  and  even  a  tyro  who  is  much 
on  the  water  in  a  game  country  is  certain  to  slaughter 
a  good  many  animals. 

By  avoiding  the  higher  summits  and  following  a 
cleft  in  the  range  we  saved  ourselves  much  hard  climb- 
ing, and,  since  we  were  travelling  light,  made  rapid 
progress.  As  we  were  descending  the  slope  on  the  Fin- 
lay  side  we  scared  up  a  covey  of  fool  hens,  which  scat- 
tered and  lit  in  the  neighboring  spruce.  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  decapitate  two  with  two  bullets,  while  Joe 
fired  four  times  at  one,  and  finally  shot  it  through  the 
body.  Hardly  had  the  echoes  died  away  when  three 
answering  reports  came  from  far  down  in  the  Finlay 
Valley. 

"Siwash!"  said  Joe.  "They  think  we  are  their 
people." 

As  we  had  no  desire  to  cultivate  their  acquaintance, 
we  made  no  reply.  Their  presence  made  me  a  bit  un- 
easy for  the  safety  of  our  cache  on  the  island  in  the 
Quadacha,  but  when  we  reached  that  place  a  little  be- 
fore sunset,  we  found  canoe  and  cache  untouched,  and 
breathed  sighs  of  relief,  for  the  possibility  of  being  left 
without  canoe  or  supplies  in  so  remote  a  region  was  not 
to  be  regarded  lightly. 


WE  TRY  THE   FOX   RIVER   RANGE  189 

Next  day  we  put  our  stuff  once  more  aboard  The 
Submarine,  and  set  out  up  the  Finlay.  We  had  gone 
only  half  a  mile  when  we  came  to  a  deserted  cabin  stand- 
ing in  a  thick  grove  of  spruce  on  the  north  bank.  It  had 
evidently  been  occupied  some  winters  before  by  Booth, 
the  squaw-man,  for  on  a  marten-stretcher  he  had  written 
a  message  to  the  effect  that  grub  was  scarce,  and  that 
he  was  forced  to  go  elsewhere  to  get  a  supply.  There 
was  a  tiny  sheet-iron  stove  in  this  cabin,  and,  as  often 
happens,  a  pack-rat  had  pre-empted  this  stove  for  his 
domicile.  He  had  dragged  in  a  great  quantity  of  weeds 
and  heaped  them  over  the  stove,  and  had  made  a  nest 
inside.  When  I  began  to  poke  round  the  stove  the  rat 
became  panic-stricken  and  attempted  to  climb  the  in- 
side of  the  pipe.  Twice  he  made  considerable  progress, 
as  I  could  tell  from  the  scratching,  only  to  lose  his  foot- 
ing each  time  and  take  an  inglorious  tumble  in  a  cloud 
of  soot.  These  pack-rats  are  interesting  creatures,  and 
I  shall  have  more  to  say  of  them  later. 

Now  and  then  we  caught  glorious  glimpses  of  the 
mountain  range  lying  to  the  west  of  the  Fox  River  valley. 
This  range  terminated  on  the  south  at  the  pass  through 
which  the  Finlay  breaks  its  way  from  the  west,  and  here 
it  rises  up  very  steep,  at  an  angle  of  probably  45°.  On 
the  southern  face  and  along  the  summit  this  range  is 
practically  destitute  of  either  trees  or  bushes,  and  is 
covered  with  bunch  grass,  hence  the  name  "Prairie 
Mountain,"  bestowed  by  McConnell  upon  the  most 
southern  elevation.  From  Prairie  Mountain  the  range 
gradually  rises  in  height  toward   the  north,  and  culmi- 


I90    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

nates  in  some  tall  and  exceedingly  rugged  peaks.  Both 
from  our  present  point  of  vantage  and  from  the  moun- 
tains up  the  Quadacha  the  backbone  of  the  ridge  ap- 
peared to  be  fairly  level  and  continuous,  and  it  was 
Joe's  theory  that  if  we  were  once  on  this  backbone,  we 
could  travel  northward  with  great  speed,  and  he  was 
certain  we  would  be  sure  to  find  caribou  and  other  game 
there. 

Three  or  four  miles  above  the  Quadacha  we  came 
in  sight  of  the  mouth  of  the  Tochieca  or  Fox  River,  and 
caught  sight  of  the  smoke  and  tents  of  a  little  Siwash 
encampment,  just  below  the  junction  on  the  north  bank 
of  the  Finlay.  I  was  none  too  much  pleased  at  finding 
the  aborigines  here,  both  on  account  of  their  ravages 
among  the  game,  and  also  because  I  feared  they  might 
disturb  our  cache.  But  we  put  the  best  face  possible 
on  the  matter,  and  ran  our  canoe  upon  the  beach  beneath 
the  camp.  Our  approach  had  long  since  been  noticed, 
and  we  were  greeted  by  four  bucks  who  came  scrambling 
down  the  bank,  while  a  couple  of  squaws,  who  had  been 
graining  a  moose  hide,  peered  furtively  down  at  us  from 
behind  the  bushes. 

One  of  the  men  was  middle-aged,  another  a  young 
fellow  of  perhaps  twenty-four,  while  the  other  two  were 
boys  still  in  their  teens.  All  wore  civilized  clothes 
except  for  moccasins.  The  older  man  did  not  speak 
English,  but  the  other  grown-up,  who  told  us  that 
he  was  a  son  of  Chief  Pierre  and  a  brother  of  Aleck, 
spoke  it  pretty  well,  as  did  the  younger  of  the  boys. 
The  old  fellow  was  not  particularly  prepossessing,  but 


WE  TRY  THE   FOX   RIVER   RANGE  191 

the  younger  ones  were  both  good-looking  and  intelHgent. 
They  had  been  in  the  region  for  months,  and  were  about 
out  of  suppHes. 

"Gun  empty,"  said  Pierre's  son,  "no  tea,  no  tobac. 
Hell  without  tobac  !" 

He  wanted  to  know  if  we  would  not  trade  them  a 
supply  of  these  articles  for  some  dried  moose  meat,  of 
which  they  had  a  goodly  quantity.  First,  however,  he 
was  anxious  to  learn  how  every  one  was  at  Fort  Gra- 
hame,  what  his  father  and  Aleck  were  doing,  and  so  on. 
I  confess  that  his  concern  about  the  health  and  well- 
being  of  his  friends  and  relatives  prepossessed  me  in  his 
favor.  We  told  what  little  we  knew  on  these  subjects, 
and  then  gave  the  Indians  a  few  .30-30  cartridges  and 
a  little  tea  and  tobacco,  taking  in  exchange  a  small  piece 

of  dried  meat. 

Before  the  exchange  was  effected  I  asked  the  party 
to  line  up  in  front  of  the  camp  and  let  me  take  their 
pictures.  The  men  did  so  willingly  enough,  but  the 
two  squaws  replied  to  the  proposal,  as  transmitted 
through  their  male  relatives,  with  protesting  jabbers,  and 
hid  in  the  tents,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  men. 
One  of  the  women  was  young  and  comely,  the  other  a 
very  aged  hag,  whose  wrinkled,  leathery  skin  made  her 
look  ninety  at  least,  though  she  may  not  have  been 
above  sixty  or  seventy.  From  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
which  was  frequently  lifted  in  orders  or  protests,  we 
judged  that  she  made  it  pretty  lively  for  the  other 
members  of  the  party.  The  dogs,  too,  objected  to  pic- 
ture-taking, and  hung  back,  growling.     When  I  opened 


192    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

the  Graflex,  the  biggest,  a  great  surly,  ugly  brute,  gave 
a  yelp  of  fear  and  dived  off  into  the  brush. 

Later,  while  Joe  was  getting  the  tea  and  tobacco 
out  of  the  boat,  the  ancient  dame  so  far  forgot  her  fears 
that  she  came  down  close  to  the  boat  and  jabbered  away 
at  a  great  rate,  probably  telling  the  men  what  they 
should  ask  for.  I  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to 
train  the  camera  on  her,  whereupon  the  men,  entering 
into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  began  to  laugh.  She  quickly 
perceived  what  I  was  about  and  started  to  turn  away, 
but  she  was  too  late.  The  men  thought  the  thing  a 
great  joke,  and  they  chuckled  for  some  time  over  it. 

Subsequently  at  Fort  Grahame  I  learned  from  Fox 
that  this  old  squaw  has  a  remarkable  history.  Many 
years  before  her  husband  had  died  and  had  left  her  with 
several  small  children.  But  she  was  a  rustler,  hunted 
game,  and  even  trapped  bears.  "There  was  not  a  family 
in  the  tribe  that  was  better  provided  for  than  hers," 
said  Fox.  This  account  greatly  raised  the  old  lady  in 
my  estimation.  What  a  life  she  must  have  led  in  the 
wilderness,  and  what  a  story  her  experiences  would  make 
if  one  could  only  know  them  !  Cold,  hunger,  privations, 
adventures  with  wild  animals,  struggles  to  find  the  where- 
withal to  feed  hungry  mouths  and  clothe  naked  backs 
would  all  find  a  place  therein.  How  interesting  would 
be  the  single  matter  of  her  view  of  the  white  man  and 
the  experiences  of  herself  and  people  with  the  members 
of  that  race. 

I  confess  that  this  little  hunting-party — or  family- 
party,  as  you  will — impressed  me  most  favorably.     There 


WE  TRY  THE   FOX    RIVER    RANGE  uji 

was  something  of  the  old,  seh-rchant  i)<)sc  of  tlic  primi- 
tive red  man  in  the  men,  and  there  w  is  pride  in  the 
tone  of  Pierre's  son  wlien  he  indicated  with  a  uave  of 
his  hand  the  mountains  and  valleys  around  us,  and  said; 
"This  is  my  country."  All  the  |)arty  were  j)hysically 
good  specimens,  for  they  had  never  had  nuu  h  experience 
with  fire-water  and  the  white  man's  diseases.  Their 
bearing  was  utterly  different  from  that  of  Indians  one 
meets  close  to  "civilization."  It  was  evident  that  they 
still  regarded  themselves  as  lords  of  the  land,  and  us  as 
friendly  travellers  therein. 

Soon  after  leaving  this  interesting  camp  we  reached 
the  mouth  of  Fox  River,  and  had  great  difficulty  in  pass- 
ing it,  as  the  stream  dashes  into  the  P^inlay  with  great 
violence,  and  creates  a  dangerous  eddy  near  the  opposite 
bank.  The  Fox  follows  the  west  side  of  the  Great 
Intermontane  Valley,  and  contains  so  many  rapids  and 
low  falls  that  it  is  not  considered  navigable.  McCon- 
nelFs  party  made  their  way  on  foot  some  distance  up 
the  river,  and  since  then  a  number  of  white  men  have 
penetrated  the  region.  Among  these  were  Frank  and 
Alfred  Perry,  one  of  whom  is,  I  understand,  a  relative  of 
Fox  at  Fort  Grahame.  Somewhere  up  the  stream  they 
were  charged  by  two  grizzlies,  and  Frank  Perry  killed 
the  last  one  only  a  few  feet  from  the  muzzle  of  his  ritle. 

In  answer  to  our  questions,  Pierre's  son  had  said  that 
the  southern  end  of  the  Fox  River  range  was  not  good 
for  game,  and  had  advised  us  to  go  up  to  the  Long  Canyon 
and  hunt  in  the  mountains  around  the  head  of  a  stream 
called  Bower  Creek.     The  nKumtains  there  were,  he  de- 


194    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

clared,  "white  with  sheep,  black  with  caribou."  His 
account  rather  shook  my  faith  in  the  Fox  River  range, 
but  Joe  declared  that  the  Indian  was  probably  lying, 
so  we  stuck  to  our  plan,  landed  at  the  foot  of  Prairie 
Mountain,  and  made  a  cache  on  a  spot  that  had  been 
occupied  some  weeks  before  by  the  Huston  party,  whose 
names  were  written  on  a  blazed  tree.  We  planned  that 
if  the  range  did  prove  disappointing,  we  would  turn 
northwestward  and  try  to  reach  the  region  in  which  the 
Huston  party  had  found  caribou.  It  was  this  region 
that  Witt  had  recommended  to  me  at  Prince  George. 

Next  morning,  taking  as  much  food  as  we  could  carry 
and  each  of  us  his  heaviest  blanket,  we  started  up 
Prairie  Mountain.  We  were  unlucky  enough  to  blunder 
among  some  steep  cliffs,  and  not  only  had  to  work  hard 
but,  encumbered  as  we  were  with  heavy  packs,  we 
encountered  no  small  amount  of  danger.  Once  I 
thought  that  Joe  would  surely  fall,  and  as  I  was  directly 
beneath  him,  my  own  prospects  looked  none  too  bright, 
but  he  managed  to  regain  his  footing,  and  presently  we 
reached  better  going. 

By  noon  we  had  reached  the  summit,  and  again  had 
a  splendid  view  of  the  Intermontane  Valley,  the  Finlay 
and  its  tributaries,  and  mountains  in  every  direction. 
We  gazed  with  special  interest  at  the  Quadacha  country, 
and  were  able  to  see  many  of  the  natural  features  of 
that  region,  including  the  glacier  on  the  headwaters  of 
Warneford  River.  It  is  this  glacier  evidently  that 
McConnell  sets  down  on  his  map,  as  he  writes  me  that 
he   saw   it   from    the   top   of  this   mountain.     Later  we 


WE  TRY  'II 11-,    I  ox    kl\KR    RANCih  i«;5 

caught  a  distant  glimpse  ol  Mourn  Lloyd  ( Jcorgc  and  the 
Great  Glacier  from  mmli  larilici   u|)  the  range. 

As  it  threatened  rain  and  joe  was  worn  out,  wc 
camped  early  that  afternoon  in  a  wooded  i  a  vine  a  few 
miles  up  the  range.  There  was  plenty  of  water  and 
splendid  balsam  boughs  for  beds,  and  we  were  able  t(j 
make  ourselves  quite  comfortable. 

We  had  hoped  to  find  caribou  sign,  or  better  still 
the  animals  themselves,  on  top  of  Prairie  .Mountain, 
but  found  nothing  except  a  few  old  moose  tracks  and 
droppings.  The  moose,  though  a  denizen  of  the  lower 
levels,  occasionally  strolls  up  U)  timber-line,  and  even 
passes  beyond  when  travelling. 

I  spent  what  remained  of  the  afternoon  prowling  along 
the  top  of  the  range  ahead.  It  was  delightful  country: 
the  summit  bare  of  trees,  and  except  where  too  rocky, 
overgrown  with  bunch-grass,  with  scattered  spruce,  aspen, 
jack-pine,  balsam,  juniper,  and  kinnikinnic  in  some  of 
the  hollows  and  ravines.  With  such  splendid  teed  on 
this  sky  pasture,  it  seemed  that  there  ought  to  be  game 
to  eat  it,  but  I  saw  only  a  pair  of  big  blue  grouse,  at  the 
head  of  one  of  which  I  fired  but  missed.  Doubtless  the 
place  is  in  too  easy  reach  of  the  Indians  who  hunt  the 
Fox  River  valley.  In  this  valley  and  in  that  of  the  Fin- 
lay  to  westward  I  could  see  many  lakelets,  and  around 
these  the  Siwash  no  doubt  kill  plenty  of  moose. 

I  repeat  that  it  was  a  most  delightful  country,  and 
despite  a  drizzling  rain  that  fell  at  intervals,  I  vastly 
enjoyed  that  afternoon's  walk  u\)  there  on  the  rcxif  of 
things.     After  so  many  weeks  spent  in  a  region  ot  lur- 


196    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

ests,  it  gave  one  a  sense  of  relief  to  be  once  more  walking 
in  the  open  over  grass.  There  was  plenty  of  scenery  to 
look  at,  and  if  I  grew  weary  of  gazing  at  the  Fox  River 
valley  and  the  Quadacha  country,  I  had  only  to  walk 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  to  look  down  into  the  Fin- 
lay  Valley  to  westward  and  at  the  forbidding  ranges 
that  loom  up  beyond,  while  there  was  always  the  chance 
that  I  might  come  in  sight  of  caribou,  or  even  a  silver- 
tip. 

Among  the  most  soul-satisfying  hours  that  I  have 
ever  spent  have  been  those  passed  among  high  moun- 
tains, rambling  about  timber-line  and  summit,  alone 
with  primordial  facts  and  eternal  verities. 


CHAPTER   XIV 
AN   EXPERIENCE  WITH   MOUNTAIN-GOATS 

My  natural  pride  as  a  hunter  would  lead  nie  to  sup- 
press this  chapter,  but  as  this  book  purports  to  be  a 
veracious  chronicle  of  our  experiences  on  the  head- 
waters of  Peace  River,  I  swallow  my  pride  and  will  not 
attempt  to  misrepresent  anything  even  by  exercising 
the  nice  art  of  suppression. 

It  snowed  considerably  the  night  following  our  arrival 
on  the  summit  of  the  Fox  River  range,  and  though  the 
sun  next  day  soon  melted  the  snow  on  the  lower  slopes, 
a  thin  white  mantle  still  clung  around  the  higher  sum- 
mits.    A  fierce,  raw  wind  from  the  west  cut  us  to  the 
marrow    as    we    trudged    along    northward,    alternately 
ascending  and  descending,  and  so  strong  did  it  become 
that  when  we  came  to  some  knife-edges  we  felt  in  danger 
of  being  picked  up  and  hurled  into  the  deep  gorges  be- 
low.    The  farther  we  went  the  higher  grew  our  altitude, 
and  toward  noon,  as  it  was  evident  that  we  were  getting 
away  from  all  fuel,  we  tore  off  a  few  gnarled  sticks  from 
some  half-dead    stunted    spruce  with    which,   when   we 
reached    the   summit   of   the    peak    ahead,    we    made    a 
wretched  fire,  melted  some  snow,  and  brewed  some  tea. 
The  backbone  was  proving  much  more  uneven  than  it 
had  appeared  from  the  Quadacha  country,  and  we  dis- 

'97 


198    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

covered  that  high  lateral  ridges  running  northeastward 
had  hidden  deep  clefts,  the  passage  of  which  took  much 
time  and  effort.  Although  we  kept  a  sharp  lookout,  we 
saw  no  game  of  any  kind,  but  we  did  happen  upon  a 
few  very  old  goat  and  caribou  tracks,  and  a  place  where 
months  before  a  grizzly  had  ''done  his  assessment  work," 
as  Joe  put  it.  By  this  last  I  mean  a  hole  where  a  grizzly 
had  ripped  out  a  wagon-load  of  earth  and  stones  trying 
to  dig  out  a  whistler. 

In  the  afternoon  we  came  to  a  spot  where  there 
loomed  up  ahead  the  most  forbidding  rocky  peak  we  had 
yet  seen  along  this  range,  while  to  the  right  there  lay  a 
deep  wide  basin,  at  the  head  of  which  lay  a  big  patch 
of  old  snow.  We  descended  into  the  basin  to  camp,  and 
found  its  floor  covered  with  grass,  while  a  clear,  cold 
stream  trickled  down  from  the  patch  of  snow.  We  no- 
ticed some  old  bear  and  caribou  signs,  but  the  only  ten- 
ants of  the  basin  seemed  to  be  some  siffleurs,  one  of 
which  persisted  in  uttering  his  piercing  whistle  at  short 
intervals. 

Wh'en  we  reached  timber-line  at  a  spot  a  little  above 
where  the  basin  met  another  extending  into  the  range 
farther  north,  we  camped — not  a  very  satisfactory  loca- 
tion, for  the  wind  blew  chill  from  seemingly  every  direc- 
tion, dry  wood  was  hard  to  get,  and  the  little  brook  had 
disappeared  beneath  vast  masses  of  slide  rock,  necessi- 
tating a  long  trip  back  toward  the  head  of  the  basin 
after  the  all-essential  fluid.  By  about  sunset,  however, 
we  had  finished  our  suppers,  and  I  set  off  with  our  two 
biggest  tin  pots  for  a  fresh  supply  of  water  with  which 


EXPERIENCE  WITH   MOUNTAIN-GOATS      199 

to  wash  the  dishes  and  make  a  bannoik.  1  took  my 
rifle  with  me,  and,  as  a  dimh  of  two  or  tlircc  hundred 
feet  would  enable  me  to  look  over  into  the  basin  to  norili 
of  us,  I  summoned  up  enough  energy  U)  make  it,  hoj)ing 
that  I  might  see  game  of  some  sort  or  at  least  iind  water 
near  at  hand. 

To  ascend  the  spur  that  separated  the  mouths  of 
the  two  basins  was  a  matter  of  a  few  minutes  only,  and, 
arrived  at  the  top,  I  looked  cautiously  over.  I  saw  at 
once  that  the  basin  was  not  unlike  the  one  into  which 
we  had  descended,  though  at  the  head  it  was  walled  in 
by  a  tremendous  unscalable  cliff.  I  also  perceived  that 
if  we  had  continued  on  the  backbone,  we  would  easily 
have  been  able  to  avoid  both  basins,  as  neither  was  a 
pass,  as  Joe  had  contended.  On  the  side  nearest  me 
and  close  at  hand  lay  a  beautiful  little  tarn,  or  lakelet, 
at  which  I  could  fill  my  pails.  At  the  head  of  the  basin 
there  was  a  considerable  patch  of  old  snow. 

These  various  features  received,  however,  little  more 
than  a  passing  glance,  for  my  eyes  almost  immediately 
caught  sight  of  an  object  moving  on  a  green  plot  close 
beside  the  snow.  I  quickly  hauled  forth  my  glasses  and 
focussed  them  on  this  object.  Up  to  that  moment  I 
had  never  yet  beheld  a  living  Rocky  Mountain  goat, 
but  there  could  be  no  m.istaking  the  long,  fluffy,  white 
wool,  the  square  blocky  outlines,  the  stiff  jointless  gait 
of  the  beast  before  me. 

The  sight  exhilarated  me  strangely.  It  was  one  of 
the  moments  for  which  men  will  travel  thousands  of 
miles  and  undergo  all  sorts  of  hardships  to  experience. 


200    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

The  mere  sight  of  that  wild  animal  grazing  in  his  native 
haunt  beneath  those  rugged  cliffs  was  a  great  recom- 
pense. 

Best  of  all,  the  prospect  seemed  bright  for  me  to  bag 
him.  To  be  sure,  the  sun  was  setting  and  the  basin 
was  already  in  deep  shadow,  but  I  knew  there  would  be 
shooting  light  for  half  an  hour — just  time  enough  to 
sneak  past  the  lakelet  over  the  low  knoll  that  rose  in 
the  centre  of  the  basin  and  put  a  .401  bullet  into  that 
white  hide  where  it  would  do  the  most  good.  The 
chance  seemed  so  excellent  that  I  felt  thoroughly  con- 
fident that  luck  had  turned,  and  I  pictured  to  myself 
the  pleasure  I  would  enjoy  an  hour  later  strolling  into 
camp  and  nonchalantly  laying  down  a  goat  head  and  a 
quarter  of  fresh  meat. 

Hurriedly  picking  out  what  seemed  the  best  route,  I 
quietly  stole  down  into  the  basin  past  the  tarn;  there  I 
left  the  two  pots,  and  then  crept  along  the  side  of  the 
low  knoll  toward  my  quarry.  There  were  little  clumps 
of  dwarf  balsam  and  juniper  that  aided  me  greatly,  and 
I  felt  that  all  was  going  well  until,  on  looking  round  a 
clump  of  juniper,  I  discovered  that  the  billy  had  quitted 
the  low  ground  near  the  patch  of  snow  and  was  making 
his  way  up  the  ridge  that  bounded  the  basin  on  the 
north.  His  pace  was  leisurely;  he  stopped  now  and 
then  to  crop  a  particularly  enticing  titbit;  it  was  plainly 
apparent  that  he  had  no  knowledge  of  my  presence,  and 
had  merely  been  moved  at  that  unlucky  moment  to 
climb  the  ridge.  Away  went  my  confident  belief  that 
billy  was  as  good  as  mine,  for  to  stalk  him  now  would 


EXPERIENCE   WITH   MOUNTAIN-GOATS      201 

necessitate  a  detour  of  miles,  and  the  light  was  already 
failing  fast. 

Plainly  it  was  a  matter  of  letting  him  go  undisturbed 
or  of  taking  a  long-range  shot.  The  former  would  have 
been  the  better  hunting,  but  my  long  run  of  poor  luck 
had  rendered  me  impatient,  while  I  could  feel  no  cer- 
tainty that  I  should  be  able  to  find  him  again  on  the 
morrow,  and,  besides,  I  have  ever  dearly  loved  making 
long  shots.  He  was  at  least  five  hundred  yards  away, 
but  how  much  farther  I  did  not  know,  nor  do  1  know  ncnv. 
I  took  a  look  at  him  through  the  sights,  found  that  I 
could  get  reasonably  good  aim,  ran  the  rear  sight  up  to 
five  hundred  yards,  aimed  deliberately,  and  let  drive. 
At  the  shot  billy  bounced  up  in  the  air,  came  down  stitT- 
legged,  and  started  up  the  ridge  with  discouraging 
agility.  After  travelling  forty  or  fifty  yards,  however, 
his  curiosity  overcame  his  fear  and  he  stopped,  where- 
upon again  I  pulled  the  trigger,  only  to  have  the  process 
repeated.  I  forget  now  just  how  many  times  I  fired  at 
him — it  was  either  three  or  four — then  I  saw  that  it 
was  useless,  and  stopped  shooting.  Clearly  I  had  mis- 
judged the  range. 

Billy  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  it  all,  for  he  kept 
stopping  and  looking  back  in  a  puzzled  manner,  and  when 
he  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  basin  floor,  he  stalked  back  and  forth,  evidently 
bursting  with  curiosity  as  to  what  had  been  making 
that  infernal  racket.  Soon  he  was  joined  by  two  other 
goats,  a  nanny  and  a  kid,  and  they,  too,  gazed  incjuir- 
ingly  down  into  the  basin.     The  kid  particularly  seemed 


202    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

to  have  imbibed  some  of  paterfamilias's  curiosity,  for  it 
kept  hopping  up  on  a  big  block  of  stone  as  if  to  get  a 
better  view.  But  as  I  was  careful  to  keep  behind  the 
juniper,  they  saw  nothing,  and  I  have  no  doubt,  went 
to  bed  that  night  still  mystified  about  ''that  noise." 

I  remained  hidden  until  it  was  so  dark  in  the  basin 
that  I  knew  they  could  not  see  me,  and  then  set  out  for 
camp.  So  long  as  I  remained  I  could  still  see  those 
precious  goats  silhouetted  against  the  fading  pink  sky, 
still  fussing  around  and  evidently  much  exercised  about 
the  matter. 

When  I  got  back  to  camp  I  had  two  pails  of  water 
but  no  goat  head,  and,  worst  of  all,  had  to  explain  to 
Joe  how  it  was  that  I  had  fired  so  many  shots  without 
killing  any  game.  Of  course,  he  criticised  the  perform- 
ance, insisting  that  if  I  had  refrained  from  shooting  we 
would  have  been  able  to  find  the  goats  in  the  morning, 
whereas  now  they  would  leave  for  parts  unknown. 

When  we  set  out  next  morning  and  reached  a  point 
whence  we  could  overlook  the  basin,  sure  enough  there 
were  no  goats  in  sight.  We  crossed  the  mouth  of  the 
basin  and  began  to  ascend  the  ridge  beyond.  As  it  was 
a  stiff,  hard  climb,  we  paused  several  times,  and  when 
we  were  half-way  up,  I  suddenly  saw  all  three  goats  in 
a  hollow  close  to  the  patch  of  snow,  and  not  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  point  where  I  had  first  seen  the  billy 
the  evening  before.  We  were  a  long  way  off,  and,  as  the 
animals  were  grazing  peacefully,  it  was  quite  evident 
that  they  had  not  seen  us.  Once  more  the  prospect 
seemed  propitious.     We  had   the  whole  day  before  us, 


EXPERIENCE   WITH    MOUNTAIN-GOATS      203 

the  wind  was  favorable,  and  it  looked  as  i("  all  I  would 
have  to  do  would  be  to  sneak  back  down  rlu-  rid^c, 
crawl  up  on  the  unsuspecting  animals,  and  tire 

I  made  the  bottom  of  the  ridge  un])crc  ei\'fd,  and  was 
creeping  along  the  slope  of  the  knoll  rising  from  the 
basin  floor  when,  looking  back  at  Joe  on  the  mountain- 
side, I  saw  him  make  a  signal  we  had  agreed  upon  that 
meant  the  animals  were  moving  to  the  left. 

"Ha!"  thought  I  to  myself,  "they  are  going  to  the 
tarn  for  water!  I  can  crawl  up  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff 
overlooking  it  and  have  a  certain  shot  at  forty  yards." 

Accordingly  I  crept  off  in  that  direction,  and  fmally 
reached  a  point  whence  I  could  command  a  view  of  the 
whole  head  of  the  basin.  Imagine  my  disgust  when  I 
discovered  that,  instead  of  travelling  toward  the  tarn, 
the  goats  were  grazing  upward  on  a  green  grassy  slope, 
and  were  nearing  the  rough  clifi^  above.  I  could  go  no 
farther  without  being  perceived,  yet  I  was  still  at  least 
four  hundred  yards  away,  and  I  did  not  like  to  risk  any 
more  long  shots,  with  the  distance  uncertain.  There- 
fore, I  lay  there  helplessly  and  watched  the  animals 
slowly  mount  the  cliff.  Through  my  glasses  I  could 
see  that  the  billy  had  a  good  pair  of  needle-sharp  horns, 
and  that  his  coat  was  much  whiter  than  those  ot  the 
nanny  and  kid,  both  of  which  had  probably  been  rolling 
in  the  dirt.  The  whiteness  of  a  clean  mountain-goat,  I 
pause  to  remark  here,  is  astonishing;  as  pronounced  as 
anything  I  can  think  of  in  nature.  Under  other  circum- 
stances to  have  watched  the  skill  and  ease  with  which 
those  seemingly  awkward   animals  walked   up   that   al- 


204    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

most  sheer  cliff  would  have  been  exceedingly  interesting, 
but  I  confess  that  at  that  moment  the  sight  gave  me  no 
pleasure.  I  had  left  my  cap  and  sweater  behind  me, 
in  order  to  make  the  stalk  unencumbered,  and  half  an 
hour  of  lying  on  the  frozen  ground  with  a  bitter  wind 
blowing  through  my  closely  cropped  hair  made  me 
heartily  wish  I  had  elected  to  wear  them.  The  animals 
had,  however,  reached  such  a  position  that  I  could  not 
back  out  without  being  noticed,  nor  could  I  go  forward 
without  the  same  result.  From  the  speed  with  which 
the  goats  were  going  it  was  evident  that  they  were  not 
in  a  hurry,  and  might  spend  several  hours  on  the  cliff. 
Anything  I  could  do  would  have  its  drawbacks,  so 
finally  in  desperation  I  simply  rose  to  my  feet  and 
walked  toward  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  thinking  that  I  would 
at  least  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  what  the  animals 
would  do  when  they  perceived  me. 

They  accepted  the  sudden  apparition  more  calmly 
than  I  expected.  In  fact,  I  had  walked  a  hundred  yards 
or  so  toward  them  before  they  seemed  to  decide  that 
any  action  was  demanded  on  their  part.  The  nanny 
was  the  first  to  decide  that  the  neighborhood  was  becom- 
ing unhealthy.  She  led  the  way  diagonally  up  the  cliff, 
with  the  kid  following,  and  billy  leisurely  protecting  the 
rear. 

The  animals  were  so  distant  that  I  hardly  expected 
to  fire  at  them,  but  the  billy  presently  stopped  on  a  ledge 
broadside  on,  and,  though  the  sun  was  shining  in  my 
eyes,  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  take  a  chance. 
At  the  moment  he  was  probably  a  thousand  feet  up  the 


EXPERIENCE  WITH   MOUNTAIN-GOATS      205 

cliff,  and  he  certainly  was  four  or  five  hundred  yards 
away  in  a  direct  line.  Had  I  been  able  to  measure  the 
exact  distance,  I  would  not  have  known  how  to  set  the 
sights  for  that  kind  of  shot.  As  it  was,  I  fired  at  least 
five  cartridges  at  him,  a  couple  at  him  standing,  the 
rest  as  he  climbed  the  cliff.  All  went  wild,  though  how 
wild  I  could  not  tell,  for  the  bullets  flattened  on  tlic 
cliff  and  gave  no  indication  of  where  they  were  striking. 
Seeing  that  I  was  merely  wasting  ammunition,  of  which 
my  supply  was  scanty,  I  ceased  shooting  and  watched 
the  procession.  The  nanny  and  kid  hurriedly  made 
their  way  to  the  summit  and  disappeared.  The  billy, 
however,  climbed  up  to  a  perfectly  inaccessible  ledge, 
took  his  stand  there,  and  gazed  truculently  down  in  my 
direction,  as  if  to  say: 

"I  dare  you  up  here  !" 

If  it  had  not  been  that  I  had  read  a  good  deal  about 
the  character  of  mountain-goats,  I  would  have  felt  con- 
fident that  I  had  wounded  this  animal.  As  it  was,  I 
concluded  that  he  was  merely  too  lazy  to  go  higher 
and,  feeling  himself  safe,  decided  to  stay  put  where  he 
was. 

For  me  to  climb  the  cliff  was  utterly  impossible.  To 
have  reached  the  summit  would  have  required  hours  of 
hard  labor,  and  would  have  been  useless,  for  the  goat 
would  not  have  been  visible  from  the  summit.  Neither 
was  he  visible  from  the  foot  of  the  cliff;  he  could  only 
be  seen  from  a  long  distance  back  from  it.  For  a  hit  1 
thought  of  making  a  detour  back  into  the  basin  south 
of  us  and  trying  to  make  an  approach  from  the  side,  but 


2o6    ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

after  walking  back  to  the  tarn  I  obtained  a  view  that 
convinced  me  that  at  best  I  could  obtain  only  a  long- 
range  shot,  while,  of  course,  I  could  not  be  sure  that  he 
would  be  obliging  enough  to  remain  on  the  ledge  while 
I  was  making  the  detour. 

The  truth  was  that  the  only  feasible  way  of  killing 
him  that  day  would  have  been  to  get  as  close  as  possible 
on  the  floor  of  the  basin,  and  to  have  kept  shooting  till 
he  dropped.  As  one  could  not  tell  where  the  bullets 
were  striking,  this  course  would  have  necessitated  an 
unlimited  supply  of  cartridges,  and  I  had  no  more  to 
spare  on  uncertainties.  Even  if  one  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  kill  him,  his  body  would  probably  have  lodged 
on  the  cliff,  while  had  he  fallen  all  that  frightful  distance, 
it  was  ten  to  one  that  his  horns  would  have  been  broken. 

If  we  had  remained  a  few  days  in  the  region,  I  think 
it  likely  that  we  would  ultimately  have  managed  to  out- 
wit the  animals,  but  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  the 
caribou  and  sheep  country,  and  decided  that  the  better 
plan  would  be  to  move  on  and  trust  to  another  interview 
with  billy  on  our  way  back.  Furthermore,  we  were  both 
confident  that,  now  we  had  reached  the  goat  country, 
we  would  see  many  more — in  fact,  this  feeling  had  been 
a  strong  factor  in  determining  my  course  both  times 
I  had  seen  the  animals.  Therefore,  we  climbed  out  of 
the  basin  with  our  packs  and  travelled  on  up  the  range. 
At  the  top  of  the  ridge  we  found  goat  beds,  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  spot  was  one  of  their  main  places  of  re- 
sort. 

As    long   as   we    remained    in    sight    billy    continued 


EXPERIENCE   WITH   MOUNTAIN-GOATS      207 

valiantly  to  hold  his  position  on  the  thll,  uliijc  the  ui.ui 
blew  through  his  whiskers. 

I  confess  that  I  took  my  leave  feeling  very  humble 
and  disgusted:  disgusted  because  it  had  been  my  ill 
luck  to  have  the  billy  twice  move  by  idle  impulse  from 
spots  where  I  would  soon  have  had  him  at  my  mercy; 
humble,  because  I  had  not  managed  better,  guessed  dis- 
tances better,  shot  better.  But  such  is  hunting— I  sup- 
pose that  is  why  it  is  so  fascinating. 

As  I  have  already  said,  we  left  fully  expecting  to  re- 
turn that  way  and  have  another  trial.  As  it  happened, 
we  returned  by  another  route.  For  aught  I  know,  I)illy 
is  still  standing  there  upon  the  cliff  where  we  left  him. 
Wherever  he  is,  may  his  tribe  increase  ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

WE  TURN  DOWN  TO  THE  LONG  CANYON 

The  hope  that  we  had  at  last  reached  a  good  game 
country  was  destined  to  disillusionment.  All  that  day 
we  made  our  way  northwestward  along  the  range  with- 
out seeing  either  goats  or  other  big  game,  and  few  traces 
of  any.  More  discouraging  still,  we  had  reached  a  region 
in  which  the  going  was  all  up-and-down  work.  Hardly 
would  we  surmount  one  summit  ere  we  would  come  to 
a  deep  cleft,  often  many  hundreds  of  feet  deep,  which 
we  must  pass  before  we  could  make  further  progress. 
The  range  that  had  promised  from  the  Quadacha  country 
to  be  smooth  and  level  like  the  top  of  a  sweet-potato 
ridge,  proved  on  closer  acquaintance  to  be  more  like  the 
cutting  edge  of  a  cross-cut  saw.  By  camping  time  we 
were  thoroughly  discouraged,  especially  since  the  coun- 
try ahead  looked  more  difficult  and  forbidding  than  any 
we  had  yet  traversed.  Progress  henceforth  could  not 
be  otherwise  than  painfully  slow,  and  we  began  to  fear 
that  again  we  would  reach  the  bottom  of  our  grub  sup- 
ply before  coming  to  a  real  game  country.  The  physical 
conditions  along  this  range  were  almost  ideal  for  either 
sheep,  goats,  or  caribou,  but  the  Siwash  evidently  had 
hunted  it  thoroughly;  in  fact,  near  the  little  tarn  where 
we  had  seen  the  goats  I  had  found  a  recent  camp  around 
which  well-picked  bones  were  scattered.     The  three  goats 

208 


DOWN  TO  THE   LONG  CANYON  209 

were  evidently  survivors  of  a  larger  band,  and  wc  now 
reproached  ourselves  for  not  having  stayed  and  hunted 
them.  Finally,  as  we  nearcd  some  black  and  seemingly 
impassable  crags,  Joe  stopped  and  turned  to  mc  and  said: 

"This  range  is  no  good.  It's  not  what  I  thought  it 
would  be  at  all." 

"I  have  been  disgusted  with  it  for  a  long  time,"  I 
returned.  "Shall  we  try  for  the  country  where  the 
Huston  party  had  their  luck  .?" 

"We  shall  do  no  good  here,"  he  said  with  conviction. 

I  was  of  the  opinion  that  if  we  would  follow  the  west- 
ern foot-hills  of  the  range  we  were  on,  we  would  get  into 
the  country  we  desired  to  reach,  but  a  rough  sketch-map 
given  me  by  Huston  showed  their  trail  starting  from  the 
Long  Canyon,  and  Joe  thought  we  would  better  turn 
down  to  the  Canyon. 

"I'll  leave  you  at  the  Canyon  and  go  down  the  river 
after  the  canoe  and  more  grub,"  said  he.  "I  can  make 
the  trip  in  two  days." 

"We'll  make  a  decision  about  that  when  we  get  to 
the  Canyon,"  I  decided. 

We  camped  late  that  afternoon  in  the  gorge  of  a  little 
creek,  a  gorge  so  rough  and  narrow  that  we  had  much 
difficulty  in  finding  a  level  spot  large  enough  for  our 
tent.  Rain  fell  throughout  the  night  and  during  the 
next  day,  while  a  snow-storm  raged  among  the  peaks 
overhead,  but  at  noon,  mindful  of  our  diminishing  grub 
supply,  we  defied  the  weather  and  set  out.  Of  all  the 
disagreeable  travel  we  experienced  during  the  whole  trip 
that   was   undoubtedly   the   worst.     Much    of  the   time 


2IO    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

we  were  forced  to  wade  in  the  bed  of  the  creek,  while 
the  rain  and  the  saturated  boughs  of  willows  and  spruce 
soon  wet  us  to  the  skin.  The  only  compensation  was 
the  sight  of  a  water-ouzel  in  a  rocky  pool.  If  ever  there 
were  two  travelers  who  deserved  the  appellation  of 
"drowned  rats,"  we  were  those  two  travelers,  when,  after 
hours  of  stumbling  and  splashing,  we  at  last  reached 
the  point  where  the  little  torrent  plunged  down  into  the 
Finlay. 

However,  we  built  a  roaring  fire  a  mile  farther  up  the 
river,  pitched  the  tent,  ate  supper,  and  proceeded  to  dry 
ourselves  out.  I  stripped  off  my  wet  clothes  down  to 
the  skin,  and  did  not  put  them  on  again  until  they  were 
dry;  as  a  result,  I  spent  a  reasonably  comfortable  night, 
snuggled  down  in  my  blanket  sleeping-bag.  Joe  vainly 
tried  to  dry  his  garments  on  his  body,  with  the  result 
that  he  remained  wet  and  cold  throughout  the  night, 
though  we  kept  a  big  fire  going. 

Next  morning  it  was  still  raining  and  gloomy,  and, 
what  was  almost  equally  discouraging,  we  did  not  know 
where  we  were.  The  Finlay  at  that  point  flowed  between 
high,  steep  cliffs,  and  the  water  was  so  tumultuous  that 
we  felt  confident  we  had  reached  the  Canyon,  but  the 
Canyon  is  twenty  miles  long,  and  we  were  anxious  to 
find  the  spot  where  the  Huston  party  had  had  their 
cache,  for  above  it  lay  Sheep  Creek,  and  from  the  mouth 
of  Sheep  Creek  ran  an  old  trail  to  the  hunting  country. 
Thinking  that  the  creek  we  had  descended  might  be 
Sheep  Creek,  Joe  set  out  on  a  tour  back  into  the  bush 
to  look  for  the  trail,  while  I  descended  the  cliff  to  the 


DOWN  TO    11  IK    IX)N(J   CANYON  211 

river  to  fish  for  arctic  trout.  T  caii^lit  110  fivli,  hut  h.ilC 
a  mile  or  so  up  the  river  I  cnuic  iii  si^hi  of  an  iuiuu-iisc, 
ragged  boulder,  "big  as  a  house,"  lyin^  in  the  middle  of 
the  stream,  and  as  the  Huston  i)e()j)le  had  mentioned 
such  a  boulder  as  having  been  near  their  cache,  I  knew 
that  I  had  succeeded  in  locating  our  position.  After 
going  somewhat  farther  up,  I  found  their  camj)  site  and 
also  their  cache. 

The  country  along  the  river  was  so  rough  and  so 
thickly  covered  with  a  terrific  tangle  of  down  timber 
that  it  was  perfectly  evident  that  to  reach  our  cache 
and  bring  up  the  canoe  would  require  several  days,  so 
we  finally  concluded  to  set  out  for  the  hunting-grounds 
with  what  we  had  and  to  trust  to  luck  to  see  us  through. 
As  luck  had  not  been  kind  to  us  recently,  this  decision 
to  attempt  to  live  off  the  country  was  hardly  a  cautious 
one,  for  our  grub  supply  was  already  reduced  to  not  to 
exceed  five  days'  supply.  We  knew  that  the  Huston 
party  had  required  three  days  to  get  to  the  hunting 
country.  If  we  reached  it  in  the  same  length  of  time, 
we  would  have  two  days'  full  rations  on  which  to  hunt, 
and  if  we  killed  nothing,  we  would  be  compelled  to  make 
our  way  back  to  the  cache  on  empty  stomachs.  It  will 
be  seen  that  there  was  a  possibility  of  our  being  obliged 
to  test  the  merits  of  fasting  for  a  considerable  period. 

I  confess  that  the  prospect  caused  me  considerable 
worry,  not  so  much  over  the  possibility  of  going  hungry 
as  of  being  once  more  obliged  to  turn  back  empty-handed. 

Toward  noon  the  weather  cleared  a  bit,  and  after  a 
hasty  lunch  we  set  out.     At  the  Huston  cache — a  plat- 


212    ON   THE   HEADWATERS   OF   PEACE   RIVER 

form  elevated  on  four  posts — we  left  two  cupfuls  of  flour 
and  corn-meal  for  use  on  the  return  journey.  From  thence 
to  the  mouth  of  Sheep  Creek  was  hardly  more  than  half 
a  mile  in  a  direct  line,  but  the  ground  was  so  broken  by 
slides  and  so  thickly  covered  with  a  tangle  of  down 
timber  that  it  took  us  a  full  hour  to  reach  it.  We  had 
already  seen  numerous  old  goat  tracks  and  places  where 
stubs  and  low-hanging  limbs  had  pulled  out  long  tufts 
of  white  wool,  and  we  saw  still  more  evidences  of  old 
Oreamnos  along  the  brink  of  the  gorge  of  Sheep  Creek. 
These  signs  rather  surprised  me,  for  I  had  always  thought 
of  the  mountain-goat  as  sticking  pretty  close  to  bare 
summits,  yet  here  was  a  spot  he  frequented  miles  from 
a  bare  mountain  top,  and  thickly  overgrown  with  timber 
and  bushes.  Doubtless  he  felt  at  home  there  because 
the  steep  cliffs  of  the  Canyon  afforded  him  a  refuge  in 
case  of  danger. 

The  walls  of  the  Sheep  Creek  gorge  were  completely 
impassable,  so  we  had  to  descend  once  more  to  the  Fin- 
lay.  While  we  rested  at  the  mouth  of  the  stream  I 
once  more  tried  fishing,  but  though  the  spot  was  a  most 
favorable  one,  and  I  saw  several  big  arctics,  I  could  not 
get  a  single  rise — another  instance,  it  seemed  to  me,  of 
the  ill  luck  that  was  pursuing  us.  Half  a  dozen  trout 
at  that  time  would  have  been  most  acceptable. 

It  was  some  consolation  that  when  we  began  to  climb 
out  of  the  Finlay  gorge  we  discovered  a  trail  whose  width 
showed  that  it  had  evidently  been  used  years  before  by 
pack-horses.  That  horses  had  at  some  time  been  brought 
into  the  country  we  had  concluded  earlier  in  the  day, 


DOWN  TO  THE  LONG  CANYON  213 

for  we  had  found  the  skull  of  such  an  animal  not  far 
from  our  camp.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  be  follow- 
ing a  travelled  way,  and  though  several  times  the  trail 
became  so  faint  that  we  were  obliged  to  search  for  it, 
we  never  failed  to  find  the  old  blazes  and  the  path. 
There  were  half-obliterated  boot  marks  in  soft  places, 
and  these  we  judged  had  been  made  by  the  Huston  party. 
A  mile  or  so  up  the  slope  we  found  pieces  of  tin-foil,  and 
several  of  the  pictures  that  go  with  packages  of  a  certain 
brand  of  milk  chocolate. 

**They  have  already  begun  to  feel  the  work,"  said 
Joe,  "and  are  shovelling  in  coal." 

"It  will  be  lucky  if  they  took  along  a  good  supply," 
said  I,  "for  then  we  shall  be  finding  traces  that  will  make 
us  certain  that  we  are  on  the  right  trail." 

The  picture  on  the  cards  was  of  the  relief  expedition 
sent  out  to  find  the  ill-fated  Captain  Scott.  We  hoped 
there  was  nothing  ominous  in  it ! 

The  trail  so  heartened  us  that  we  made  great  progress 
along  it,  particularly  when  we  reached  the  level  of  a 
high,  winding  mountain  valley  through  which  it  ran  for 
a  long  distance.  When  we  camped  late  that  afternoon, 
we  reckoned  that  we  must  have  made  ten  miles.  We 
had  already  passed  the  headwaters  of  Sheep  Creek  and 
had  reached  another  small  stream  that  flowed  in  the  direc- 
tion we  were  travelling.  The  valley  in  places  along  this 
creek  was  open  meadow,  in  places  muskeg,  while  to  east- 
ward rose  the  foot-hills  of  the  range  we  had  left,  bald 
hills  covered  with  bunch-grass. 

By  eleven  o'clock  next  day  we   reached   a  broader 


214    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

valley  where  our  stream  joined  another  larger  one  com- 
ing from  the  northeast.  The  valley  seemed  to  break 
right  through  the  range,  and  to  furnish  a  low  pass  to  the 
Fox  River  country.  The  valley  was  wide  and  marshy 
and  overgrown  with  grass  and  willows,  forming  an  ideal 
spot  for  moose.  That  it  was  a  good  place  for  game  was 
borne  out  by  signs  of  old  Siwash  camps.  Our  route  now 
turned  down  the  valley  toward  the  west  and  passed  a 
number  of  small  lakes.  Several  times  we  lost  the  trail, 
but  we  always  managed  to  find  it  again,  and  repeatedly 
we  discovered  more  discarded  chocolate  coverings,  show- 
ing that  we  were  still  following  the  route  of  the  Huston 
party.  We  also  saw  along  the  trail  boot  marks  that 
I  knew  were  much  too  recent  to  have  been  made  by 
that  party — already  out  a  full  month — but  Joe,  whose 
ability  to  read  signs  of  this  sort  was  astonishingly 
poor,  persisted  in  saying  they  were  older  than  they 
looked. 

In  the  afternoon  we  were  much  surprised  to  come  in 
sight  of  a  cabin  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  valley.  It 
had  a  rude  porch  in  front,  an  elevated  cache  to  one 
side,  and  on  the  roof  were  the  wooden  trees  of  two  an- 
cient pack-saddles.  Evidently  we  were  getting  far 
enough  to  the  west  to  be  within  reach  of  travel  from 
Telegraph  Creek  on  the  Stickine.  On  the  door  were 
written  in  pencil  the  names  of  the  Huston  party.  On 
opening  the  door,  which  was  not  even  latched,  one  of  the 
first  objects  we  beheld  was  a  big,  bushy-tailed  rat,  or 
pack-rat,  on  a  beam.  There  was  a  double  bunk  but 
seemingly  no  belongings  of  value  except  a  bunch  of  traps 


DOWN  TO  THE  LONG  CANYON     215 

lying  on  top  of  the  grub-box.  1  UH)k  these  oil,  ()|)cncd 
the  Hd,  and  looked  in. 

"Why,  Joe,"  I  exclaimed,  "it's  full  of^riih!" 

Together  we  peered  into  the  hox,  which  contained  a 
slab  of  bacon  and  several  small  neat  sacks  full  of  food. 
From  the  feel  we  could  tell  that  there  was  sugar,  beans, 
flour,  rice,  and  dried  apples. 

"It  must  be  left-over  stuff  from  last  spring,"  said 
Joe. 

I  opened  the  dried-apple  sack  and  took  two  or  three 
pieces  out.  "These  are  too  fresh  for  that,"  said  1,  sliow- 
ing  him  the  apples. 

The  thought  flashed  through  my  head  that  the  Hus- 
ton party  must  have  left  the  food,  but  then  I  remem- 
bered the  fresh  tracks  we  had  seen  along  the  trail,  and 
we  both  agreed  that  some  trapper  must  have  come  into 
the  region  and  was  distributing  his  grub  supply. 

We  would  have  given  a  good  deal  for  a  few  pounds 
of  that  food.  If  we  had  been  actually  hungry  we  would, 
of  course,  have  taken  some  of  it,  in  accordance  with  the 
custom  of  the  country,  leaving  some  money  in  payment. 
But  we  could  not  help  remembering  that  the  trapper 
who  had  brought  it  in  must  have  done  so  at  the  ex- 
penditure of  a  great  deal  of  work,  and  we  realized  that 
if  the  next  February  or  March  his  supply  should  run 
short,  it  would  be  cold  comfort  for  him  to  feel  in  his 
pocket  the  silver  we  might  leave  in  payment  for  any- 
thing we  might  take.  Ultimately  we  decided  not  to 
take  any  of  the  food,  but,  in  case  we  should  be  starving 
on  the  way  out,  to  make  use  of  some  of  it.     If  \nc  liad 


2i6    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

known  the  real  facts  about  that  grub — but  of  this  I 
shall  have  something  to  say  later. 

Beyond  the  cabin  the  trail  for  some  miles  was  the 
best  we  had  yet  seen.  Then  we  came  to  extensive  burns 
and  not  only  lost  it  but  had  bad  going.  We  crossed  two 
rushing  creeks  flowing  down  from  the  mountains  on  our 
right.  Sunset  found  us  in  a  dry  muskeg,  thinly  sprinkled 
with  small  spruce,  both  living  and  dead,  and  we  made  a 
good  camp,  with  plenty  of  dry  wood.  We  had  long  since 
lost  the  trail,  and  with  it  all  traces  of  the  Huston  party, 
but  we  had  seen  some  old  tracks  of  caribou,  and  Joe 
had  shot  a  fool  hen,  which  we  used  as  a  foundation  for 
a  little  mulligan. 

I  think  that  here  is  a  good  place  to  confess  that  for 
two  or  three  days  I  had  been  feeling  downhearted.  It 
was  one  of  the  times  when  I  felt,  as  I  had  expected  to 
feel,  that  if  the  good  Lord  would  get  me  safely  home 
once  more,  I  would  never  again  set  out  on  such  a  wild- 
goose  chase.  Luck  had  run  so  steadily  against  us  that 
in  these  pessimistic  moments  I  definitely  concluded  that 
no  matter  what  efforts  I  might  make  I  was  destined  to 
return  home  with  no  other  trophy  of  my  journey  than 
the  skin  of  one  brown  bear,  and,  as  Joe  had  nailed  this 
up  on  the  side  of  the  storehouse  at  Grahame — much 
lower  than  I  had  advised — I  half  expected  that  the  Si- 
wash  huskies  would  have  torn  it  down  and  chewed  it  up. 

That  I  felt  thus  depressed  was  due  no  doubt  to  my 
being  weary,  worn  out,  and  hungry.  For  several  days, 
in  order  to  conserve  our  scanty  stock  of  food,  I  had  been 
stinting  myself — a  proceeding  that  proved  most  discour- 


DOWN  TO  THE   LONG  CANYON  217 

aging,  for  it  seemed  that  the  less  I  ate  and  the  h^hter 
our  supplies  became  the  more  Joe  consumed.  CJreat  as 
are  his  merits,  Joe  is  not  the  man  to  take  on  a  trip  where 
there  exists  a  prospect  of  the  grub  supply  faihng  ! 

Thinking  the  whole  matter  over,  I  half  concluded 
that  I  might  have  had  a  better  time  if  I  had  taken  my 
vacation  at  some  big  summer  hotel  where  there  were 
plenty  of  ladies,  electric  lights,  and  where  the  guests 
dressed  for  dinner.  The  thought  of  the  dinners  I  was 
missing  was  both  fascinating  and  provoking.  To  have 
been  able  to  sit  down  to  even  one  of  them  I  would  will- 
ingly have  donned  my  claw-hammer  coat  any  number 
of  times ! 

But  such  are  some  of  the  drawbacks  of  roughing  it  in 
the  wilderness.  Elsewhere  I  have  compared  the  moun- 
tains to  a  woman.  If  one  is  fortunate  enough  to  enjoy 
her  favors,  he  ought  to  be  able  now  and  then  to  endure 
her  frowns. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
AN  OPPORTUNE   MEETING  WITH   A   BEAR 

Ten  o'clock  next  day  found  us  seated  on  a  steep 
mountainside  on  the  brink  of  a  cliff  that  bounded  a 
basin.  We  did  not  know  exactly  where  we  were  going, 
but  Huston's  rough  map  seemed  to  indicate  that  we 
should  turn  northeastward  in  this  locality,  and  we  had 
done  so.  We  hoped  that  when  we  reached  the  summit 
the  hunting-grounds  would  at  last  lay  revealed  before 
us,  though  we  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  perhaps  they 
lay  in  a  range  we  saw  farther  ahead — so  distant  that  I 
knew  in  my  heart  we  would  never  reach  them.  The 
going  up  the  mountain  had  been  both  steep  and  rough, 
and  both  of  us  were  winded  and  weary.  For  days  I  had 
been  travelling  on  will  rather  than  physical  strength, 
and  even  the  will  was  about  exhausted.  I  actually  had 
begun  to  doubt  whether  my  tortured  leg  muscles  could 
be  made  to  drag  me  up  to  the  yet  distant  summit. 

Before  and  beneath  us  there  unfolded  another  mag- 
nificent panorama.  Far  away  and  much  below  us  lay 
the  Finlay  and  the  gorge  of  the  Long  Canyon,  while  to 
our  right  spread  out  the  pond-studded  valley  of  Porcu- 
pine Creek  flowing  down  from  the  north.  Beyond  the 
valley  loomed  the  many,  forbidding,  snow-capped  peaks 
of  the  range  that  I  had  begun  to  call  the  Kitchener 
Mountains,  while  yet  farther  away,  very  far  away  in- 

2l8 


OPPORTUNE   MEETING  WITH   A    BEAR      zuj 

deed,  we  could  see  the  bold  cliffs  of  the  Cassiars.  Even 
the  basin  beneath  us  was  a  spectacle  well  worth  behold- 
ing. At  the  head  and  on  the  sides  it  was  hemmed  in 
by  cliffs,  and  it  ended  far  below  in  a  sea  of  green  forest. 
In  places  the  floor  of  the  basin  was  carpeted  with  grass, 
interspersed  with  heaps  of  slide  rock  and  clum[)s  of 
bushes. 

As  we  had  been  toiling  up  the  edge  of  the  basin  Un 
an  hour  or  more,  my  interest  in  the  spectacle  had  waned, 
and  I  was  sitting  in  a  sort  of  lethargy  when  Joe  crept 
close  to  me  and  whispered  eagerly: 

"There's  a  bear  over  yonder !" 

Galvanized  into  life,  I  looked  in  the  direction  his 
finger  indicated  and  saw  instantly  that  he  was  not  mis- 
taken. At  the  foot  of  one  of  the  cliffs,  near  the  head  of 
the  basin  and  well  toward  the  opposite  side,  on  a  little 
slope  covered  with  blueberry-bushes,  there  was  a  black 
bear.  He  was  busy  eating  berries,  and  his  glossy  hair 
rippled  beautifully  in  the  wind.  We  slunk  down  on  the 
cliff  top  and  lay  watching  him.  We  were  both  desper- 
ately anxious  to  kill  that  bear.     We  needed  him ! 

"How  far  is  he .?"  I  whispered. 

"Four  or  five  hundred  yards,"  said  Joe. 

It  was  too  far  to  take  a  chance  when  so  much  was 
at  stake,  and  we  looked  round  to  find  a  way  of  getting 
closer.  Farther  up  the  rim  of  the  basin  a  sort  of  cliff 
peninsula  projected  out  some  distance.  We  clambered 
down  the  cliff  on  which  we  lay  and  scrambled  over  slide 
rock  to  that  point  of  vantage.  We  had  hoped  to  find 
ourselves  in  good  shooting  distance,  but  when  we  peered 


220    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

over  the  edge  bruin  still  appeared  a  long  way  off,  four 
hundred  yards  at  least.  I  looked  at  him  through  my 
rifle  sights,  and  the  front  bead  just  about  covered  his 
whole  body.  Now  four  hundred  yards  is  not  such  a  des- 
perately long  distance  to  shoot  at  a  target,  but  it  is  a 
long  distance  on  a  mountainside  when  you  are  not  sure 
that  it  may  not  be  five  hundred  or  three  hundred,  and 
when  eating  or  going  hungry  depends  upon  your  hitting 
the  mark ! 

Eagerly  we  looked  around  for  some  route  that  would 
bring  us  closer.  There  seemed  to  be  no  practical  one. 
If  we  tried  to  descend  into  the  basin  and  sneak  nearer, 
we  would  certainly  be  heard.  A  detour  to  the  top  of 
the  cliflf  below  which  the  bear  was  feeding  would  take  a 
full  hour,  and  besides  the  wind  was  unfavorable.  For 
the  time,  therefore,  we  did  nothing  and  simply  lay  there 
on  the  cliff  watching  him  and  hoping  he  would  come 
nearer. 

Though  it  was  late  in  the  day  for  a  bear  to  be  feed- 
ing, he  still  seemed  to  be  very  hungry;  through  my 
glasses  I  could  see  him  gobbling  down  blueberries,  stems 
and  all,  like  a  champion  pie  eater  at  a  county  fair.  By 
and  by  he  apparently  thinned  out  the  supply  on  that 
slope,  for  he  moved  twenty  or  thirty  yards  toward  us 
to  another,  but  this  evidently  proved  disappointing,  for 
he  remained  there  only  two  or  three  minutes  and  fed 
back  toward  the  first. 

The  suspense  of  waiting  was  very  trying  to  me,  and 
I  discussed  with  Joe  the  practicability  of  making  a  short 
detour  up  the  rim,  climbing  down  into  the  basin,  and 


OPPORTUNE   MEETING  WITH   A   IH-AR      221 

trying  to  sneak  closer  behind  the  point  of  ;i  |)rojecting 
cliff.  I  was  eager  but  cahri  enough  and  had  my  nerves 
well  enough  under  control,  but  Joe  seemed  to  think  I 
did  not,  for  he  kept  saying: 

**  Don't  get  excited  !     Don't  get  excited  !" 

He  needed  the  advice  himself,  for  just  after  he  had 
uttered  the  words  for  about  the  third  or  fourth  time 

"Bang!"  rang  out  a  shot.  **Spat!"  went  a  bullet 
against  a  cliff  a  hundred  feet  perhaps  from  the  bear,  and 
"Bang!"  in  diminuendo  came  the  echo  from  the  cliffs 
across  the  basin. 

Joe  had  been  keeping  his  rifle — he  did  not  know  it — 
at  full  cock,  and  happening  unconsciously  to  tighten  his 
finger  on  the  trigger,  the  weapon  had  responded  as  de- 
scribed. At  that  moment  I  could  cheerfully  have  kicked 
him  off  the  cliff  and  emptied  five  soft-nosed  .401  bullets 
into  his  carcass,  but  I  contented  myself  with  an  exple- 
tive or  two  and  turned  my  attention  to  the  bear. 

I  saw  a  most  interesting  sight.  The  animal  had  been 
totally  unaware  of  our  presence,  nor  had  he  yet  made  us 
out.  He  had  heard  merely  the  report  of  the  rifle,  the 
spat  of  the  bullet,  and  the  echoes,  and  he  was  badly 
confused.  For  a  few  moments  he  stood  perfectly  still, 
and  then  ran  right  in  our  direction  for  perhaps  thirty 
yards,  and  hid  in  a  little  patch  of  brush  about  the  size 
of  a  small  room.  His  behavior  throws  light  on  many 
alleged  "charges"  made  by  bears  whose  only  thought  is 
of  escape. 

For  several  minutes  he  remained  in  the  bushes  out  of 
sight;  then  sneaked  out  on  the  other  side  and  set  off  as 


222    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

if  he  had  selected  a  destination  and  meant  to  reach  it. 
It  was  clear  that  the  time  had  come  to  shoot,  and,  be- 
cause of  our  urgent  need  of  meat  we  had  already  agreed 
that  both  should  fire.  My  Lyman  sight  was  set  at  350 
yards.  Lying  prone  on  the  clifif  top,  with  my  elbows 
resting  firmly  on  the  rock,  I  was  most  favorably  stationed 
for  a  shot,  and  when  the  bear  paused  for  a  second,  broad- 
side on,  I  took  a  short  but  careful  aim  and  pulled  the 
trigger.  He  lurched  down  in  his  hindquarters,  then  re- 
covered himself  and  started  off  down-hill  at  a  consider- 
able pace,  but  we  clearly  saw  that  I  had  broken  his  left 
hind  leg.  Joe  fired  twice  in  quick  succession,  and  when 
the  animal  paused  once  more,  I  once  more  let  drive,  and 
again  Joe  pulled  trigger.  At  my  shot  the  beast  seemed 
to  collapse,  so  to  speak,  yet  again  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether and,  half  running,  half  sliding,  down  a  steep  slope, 
disappeared  in  a  thicket  of  scrubby  birch  and  poplar 
bushes. 

I  was  confident  that,  wounded  as  he  was,  he  could 
not  climb  the  slope,  but  thought  it  possible  that  he  might 
make  off  down  the  basin,  so  I  left  Joe  on  the  cliff  to  keep 
watch,  while  I  hastily  took  off  my  heavy  boots  and 
scrambled  down  the  cliff  into  the  basin  below  the  bear. 
Then  I  cautiously  crept  up  to  the  thicket  and  into  it, 
being  careful  to  make  sure  that  I  knew  what  was  within 
a  radius  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  for  I  thought  it  barely 
possible  that,  wounded  as  he  was,  the  beast  might  pluck 
up  enough  courage  to  charge.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  rather 
hoped  he  would,  for  I  knew  that  with  the  heavy  auto- 
matic I  could  easily  stop  him,  whereas  I  was  not  sure 


Reproduced  from  a  photograph  by  M.  B.  Huston. 

HrSTOX    I'ARTV    i)\    WW    IP    \|(M    \l  \|\- 


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'^'•^" 


U]  6-iiiA 


'He    was    a    FINl.,    FAT.    HI.A(  K    HI  AK. 


OPPORTUNE   MEETING  WITH   A   HEAR      223 

that  if  he  made  off  in  the  opposite  direction  he  might 
not  get  away.  Presently,  however,  above  and  to  the 
right,  I  saw  a  spot  where  the  grass  was  bent  down  as  if 
by  some  animal  dragging  over  it,  and  both  grass  and 
earth  were  copiously  sprinkled  with  frothy  red  blood— 
the  sure  sign  of  a  lung  shot.  Following  this  trail  a  few 
yards,  I  found  the  bear  lying  dead  against  the  trunk  of 
a  sapling.  A  sort  of  bellow  he  had  uttered  as  I  was 
descending  the  cliff  had  evidently  been  his  death-cry. 

He  was  a  fine,  fat,  black  bear,  not  too  old,  and  his 
coat  for  the  fall  was  unusually  fine.  When  we  came  to 
examine  him  closely,  we  found  that  two  bullets  had 
struck  him.  One  had  hit  his  left  thigh,  tearing  the 
muscles  badly  and  shattering  the  bone.  The  other  had 
penetrated  his  left  front  leg,  had  passed  out  under  the 
armpit,  had  entered  the  body,  and  had  passed  out  on 
the  other  side.  When  Joe  had  examined  these  holes,  he 
said: 

"Of  course,  you  hit  him  in  the  leg,  but  that  bullet 
hole  in  the  shoulder  looks  like  one  from  my  .30-30." 

I  felt  sure,  from  the  bear's  behavior,  that  my  second 
bullet  had  gone  home,  and  I  saw  that  the  entrance  hole 
was  plenty  big  enough  to  admit  a  .401.  We  did  not 
argue  the  matter,  however,  but  after  we  had  the  skin 
mostly  off  I  set  out  down  the  basin  for  some  water — a 
long,  hard  job,  for  I  had  to  descend  at  least  a  thousand 
feet — leaving  Joe  to  finish  skinning  the  animal  and  cut 
it  up.  When  I  returned  he  handed  me  the  outside  cas- 
ing of  a  bullet  he  had  found  in  the  bear's  body  cavity. 
It  was  from  a  .401.     I  shall  not  pretend  to  deny  that  I 


224    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

felt  happy  it  was  so,  the  more,  perhaps,  because  of  the 
fiasco  with  the  goat. 

The  beast  was  certainly  what  our  trapper  friend, 
Scott,  on  Parsnip  River,  would  call  "a  ripe  bear."  He 
was  as  fat  as  a  prize  pig,  and  from  him  we  later  rendered 
out  enough  lard  to  last  us  back  to  Finlay  Forks,  though 
we  used  only  a  little  of  the  fat  at  that.  As  we  were  fam- 
ishing for  meat,  we  soon  had  some  steaks  sizzling  in  the 
pan,  and  we  ate  and  ate  and  ate — panful  after  panful,  as 
fast  as  it  would  fry. 

For  me  it  was  a  most  delightful  day.  Luck  had 
changed  at  last.  The  bear  had  saved  the  situation.  I 
not  only  had  the  beast  to  my  credit,  but  we  now  had 
an  abundance  of  meat  and  could  hunt  the  region  indefi- 
nitely. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  before  we  finally  set  out  once 
more  toward  the  summit.  We  were  weighted  down,  not 
only  with  the  old  contents  of  our  packs,  but  with  the 
bearskin  and  an  abundance  of  meat.  The  slope  was  ex- 
ceedingly steep,  fifty  degrees  at  least,  and  the  sun  was 
near  to  setting  when  we  at  last  reached  the  crest. 

A  pleasant  prospect  lay  before  us.  The  mountain 
on  which  we  stood  sloped  down  a  few  hundred  feet  to 
a  high  Alpine  valley,  partly  overgrown  with  balsam- 
trees,  but  with  large  grassy  areas  also.  Beyond  rose  a 
loftier  range  of  mountains,  the  summits  of  which  were 
craggy  and  rugged  to  the  last  degree,  but  the  slopes  of 
which  were  delightfully  smooth  and  covered  with  grass. 
Here  and  there,  both  up  and  down  the  range,  lay  fine 
big  basins,  and  in  one  of  them  gleamed  a  tiny  lakelet. 


OPPORTUNE    MLLliN(J    Willi    A    HKAR       22^ 

On  the  slope  ol  the  niomitain  directly  oppcjsitc  1 
noted  a  patch  of  j^recn  heih;ii;e  that  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  dead  brown  ot  most  t»t  the  grass  .\m[  that  evi- 
dently marked  the  s|)ot  where  a  tin\  rill  took  its  rise. 
The  patch  was  fully  two  miles  away,  and  the  lij;ht  w.is 
beginning  to  fail,  yet  it  seemed  to  inc  that  I  could  di>- 
cern  some  tiny  objects,  no  bigger  than  small  hugs,  mov- 
ing about  on  it.  I  trained  my  glasses  on  the  patch  and 
saw  that  I  had  made  no  mistake.  Four  or  five  whiti>h 
animals  were  grazing  on  the  sl()j)e,  one  of  them  c(jnsidcr- 
ably  darker  than  the  rest.  Whether  they  were  goats  or 
sheep  I  could  not  be  sure;  beyond  ([uestion  they  were 
game. 

It  seemed  that  at  last  we  had  reached  the  happy 
hunting-grounds ! 


CHAPTER   XVII 
STONE'S    MOUNTAIN-SHEEP 

It  was  too  late  to  go  after  the  animals  I  had  seen  on 
the  mountainside  opposite,  so  we  hurried  down  into  the 
valley  to  make  camp  before  nightfall.  Joe  wanted  to 
camp  beside  the  lakelet,  where  we  would  have  been  in 
full  view  of  a  large  part  of  the  region,  but  I  promptly 
vetoed  this  harebrained  idea,  for  I  was  determined  to 
take  no  chances  of  alarming  game.  Instead,  I  selected 
a  spot  in  the  valley  in  a  grove  of  balsam.  A  little  brook 
ran  near  by,  sometimes  above  the  ground,  sometimes 
beneath  it,  furnishing  a  plentiful  supply  of  clear,  cold 
water,  while  there  were  a  number  of  dead  trees  for  fire- 
wood. As  I  expected  to  remain  here  for  some  time,  I 
cut  an  extra  large  supply  of  balsam  boughs  and  made 
the  softest  beds  of  the  whole  trip. 

That  night  and  again  next  morning  we  filled  up  on 

fried  bear-steak,  and  after  tacking  up  the  bear  hide  on 

two  trees  that  grew  conveniently  close  together  near  the 

tent,  we  set  off  with  the  rifles  and  cameras  to  investigate 

the  slope  on  which  the  afternoon  before  we  had  seen  the 

wild  animals.     When  we  got  to  timber-line  we  examined 

the  slope  carefully  through  our  glasses.     At  first  we  saw 

nothing,  and  Joe  had  given  over  looking,  but  by  and  by 

I  caught  sight  of  a  slight  movement  not  far  from  the 

green  patch,  and  presently  I  made  out  the  back  of  some 

226 


STONE'S   MOUNTAIN-SHEEP  227 

animal.  From  where  we  lay  the  slope  looked  almost 
perfectly  level,  but  it  was  clear  that  there  was  a  slight 
depression  where  I  saw  the  animal.  The  beast  disap- 
peared for  a  bit,  then  reappeared  with  two  others,  though 
we  could  see  only  a  little  of  any  of  them.  The  color  of 
the  one  I  saw  most  clearly  was  such  that  I  tlioughr  pos- 
sible the  thing  was  a  caribou;  then  I  caught  sight  of  a 
set  of  spiral  horns,  and  I  knew  that  what  I  beheld  were 
mountain-sheep.  Whether  the  animals  had  remained  in 
that  place  all  night,  or  whether  they  had  slept  upon  the 
cliffs  and  then  had  returned  in  the  early  morning  we 
could  not  know;  all  we  did  know  was  that  there  they 
were  and  that  it  was  our  problem  to  get  them. 

But  how .?  The  wind,  to  be  sure,  was  favorable,  hut 
the  spot  the  sheep  had  selected  was  on  a  level,  grassy 
mountainside,  hundreds  of  yards  from  any  appreciable 
cover.  Joe  declared  flatly  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  get  within  good  shooting  distance. 

"You  are  always  in  too  much  of  a  hurry,"  he  said, 
referring  probably  to  my  precipitancy  with  the  goats. 

For  an  hour  or  so  we  watched  the  animals  and  stud- 
ied the  slope  from  several  different  points.  I  expected 
any  minute  for  them  to  start  up  the  mountain,  and  it 
was  clear  that  if  they  once  got  upon  the  cliffs  our  chance 
of  killing  them  would  be  small.  From  a  little  to  our 
left  a  shallow  gully  ran  up  the  mountain,  gradually 
broadening  out  into  level  ground  about  four  hundred 
yards  below  the  sheep.  Studying  the  slope  intently 
through  my  glasses,  I  thought  I  perceived  a  possibility 
of  following  up  this  gully  as  far   as  it   went,  and   then 


228    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

making  an  approach  behind  a  small  swell  that  rose  four 
or  five  feet  above  the  general  level  of  the  slope  to  the 
right  of  and  a  little  below  the  animals.  I  explained  the 
plan  to  Joe,  told  him  that  I  meant  to  make  the  trial, 
and  left  him.  His  silence  was  eloquent  of  his  disap- 
proval and  of  his  belief  that  I  would  fail. 

I  resolved,  however,  to  neglect  no  precaution.  I 
took  plenty  of  time,  even  to  making  the  walk  up  the 
gully;  arrived  at  the  end  of  it,  I  rested  a  bit  to  steady 
my  nerves  and  reconnoitre  and  to  pull  off  my  boots. 
By  taking  advantage  of  a  clump  of  low  juniper  I  man 
aged  to  crawl  from  the  gully  and  get  behind  the  swell 
and  thence  worm  my  way  up  the  slope.  I  felt  horribly 
exposed,  and  knew  that  if  one  of  the  animals  should 
move  a  few  yards  in  any  direction  I  would  certainly  be 
discovered.  Joe  said  afterward  that  once  the  biggest 
ram  did,  in  fact,  walk  in  my  direction  a  bit  and  stand 
with  head  thrown  back,  scrutinizing  the  landscape.  Joe 
thought  that  I  had  certainly  been  seen,  but  it  was  not 
so,  for  the  ram  walked  back  and  lay  down  again. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour,  perhaps,  after  I  started 
on  the  stalk  I  reached  the  lower  edge  of  the  little  swell 
behind  which  I  had  made  my  approach,  and  I  knew 
that  I  must  not  be  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
animals.  I  felt  that  only  a  stroke  of  desperately  bad 
luck  could  now  prevent  me  from  obtaining  at  least  a 
fair  running  shot.  Again  I  rested  until  my  pulse  was 
running  normal.  I  did  not  want  to  boggle  the  affair 
now,  for  it  was  by  no  means  certain  that  I  would  have 
another  chance  at  sheep;     the  Huston  party  had  seen 


STONE'S   MOUNTAIN-SHEEP  220 

only  two.  And  I  was  more  eager  to  get  a  sheep  than 
any  other  animal,  except  perhaj)s  a  grizzly.  Slowly  I 
crept  up  the  little  swell  till  I  had  almost  reached  its 
highest  point,  and  again  T  rested.  1  liad  decided  that 
it  would  be  better  simply  to  rise  up  than  to  attempt  to 
crawl  in  sight  of  the  animals,  for  the  swell  was  so  round 
and  nearly  level  that  the  sheep  would  almost  certainly 
have  seen  me  before  I  could  have  seen  them.  Quietly 
I  rose  part  way  up,  only  to  discover  that  I  was  as  yet 
not  quite  far  enough.  Once  more  I  edged  myself  closer, 
rested  again,  rose  to  my  feet. 

Forty  yards  ahead,  half  hidden  In  a  hollow  behind 
some  weeds  and  grass,  stood  what  seemed  to  be  a  young 
ram.  I  quickly  fired  for  his  shoulder.  The  bullet 
seemed  to  paralyze  the  beast  in  his  tracks,  but  he  did 
not  fall;  as  I  afterward  ascertained,  the  missile  had 
struck  a  trifle  too  low  to  be  immediately  fatal.  I  took 
no  chances  but,  almost  as  quickly  as  I  could  pull  trigger 
again,  sent  in  another  bullet  that  brought  him  down. 
Then  I  whirled  to  the  left  where,  through  the  tail  of  my 
eye,  I  had  caught  sight  of  a  commotion.  Forty  yards 
from  the  first  animal  and  perhaps  seventy  from  me 
three  other  sheep  had  sprung  to  their  feet  from  a  little 
hollow,  and  I  saw  that  one  was  a  good-sized  ram.  He 
started  to  run,  but  before  he  had  gathered  any  headway 
I  caught  him  high  in  the  hip  and  brought  him  to  a  stand- 
still.    Another  bullet  killed  him. 

The  other  sheep,  a  ewe  and  a  young  ram  lamb,  were 
so  startled  and  terrified  that  they  seemed  completely 
crazed.     They  ran  off  some  distance,  then   returned   to 


230    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

the  top  of  a  little  rise,  not  fifty  yards  from  where  I  stood 
by  the  bigger  sheep,  and  stared  down  at  me  with  big, 
wild  eyes.  I  would  have  given  a  good  deal  for  the 
camera  at  that  moment,  for  their  nearness  and  pose 
would  have  enabled  me  to  obtain  one  of  the  grandest 
animal  pictures  ever  taken,  but  when  Joe  came  puffing 
and  blowing  up  the  mountainside  with  it,  they  ran  off. 
They  hung  around,  however,  for  some  minutes,  and  I 
succeeded  in  taking  a  distant  picture  of  them.  Finally 
they  circled  far  enough  to  get  our  wind  and  then  made 
their  way  up  the  mountain,  and  we  saw  them  no  more. 
The  animals  whose  careless  watch  had  led  to  the 
death  of  two  of  their  number  were  Stone's  sheep  {ovis 
stonei).  These  creatures  are  the  most  southern  species 
of  the  northern  sheep  and,  in  a  way,  form  a  sort  of 
connecting-link  between  the  ordinary  bighorns  of  the 
United  States  and  southern  Canada,  and  the  whiter 
sheep  farther  north.  The  gap  between  Stone's  sheep 
and  the  ordinary  bighorn  is,  however,  much  more  pro- 
nounced than  that  between  Stone's  sheep  and  Fannin's 
sheep  or  even  Dall's  sheep;  in  fact,  these  northern  species 
seem  gradually  to  merge  into  one  another.  The  color 
of  the  Stone's  sheep  varies  with  the  locality,  with  the 
sexes,  and  even  with  individuals.  The  back,  sides,  and 
the  fronts  of  the  legs  of  my  bigger  ram  were  a  dark 
brown  in  color,  with  a  few  scattered  grayish  hairs 
interspersed;  except  for  these  hairs,  the  color  was 
not  unlike  that  of  the  ordinary  bighorn.  The  backs 
of  the  legs,  the  belly,  and  the  rump  patch  were  a 
dirty    white;     the    diminutive    tail    was    almost    black, 


OlK    (AMP    IN     llll,     H\l.>\\l     (iKM\| 


A  Stonk's  Sukkp. 


STONK'S   MOUNTAIN-SflKEP  z^i 

and  the  neck  and  head  were  iron-gray,  the  head 
ahiiost  white.  The  ewe  appeared  to  be  j)ractiLaIly  wliitc 
almost  all  over,  except  for  a  bhick  tail.  Both  tlie  slain 
animals  were  large,  the  bigger  weighing  probably  two 
hundred  and  forty  pounds,  but  neither  had  very  large 
horns,  for  neither  was  yet  very  old.  Close  by  where 
they  fell  I  picked  up  a  considerably  larger  horn  that  had 
probably  belonged  to  a  ram  killed  by  the  Indians  some 
years  before. 

We  took  the  skin  of  the  larger  sheep  entire  (and,  of 
course,  the  head),  for  I  was  under  the  imj)ression  that 
no  complete  specimens  of  sheep  had  been  taken  <jut  of 
that  country,  and  I  knew  that  for  years  the  American 
Biological  Survey  had  been  making  a  careful  study  of 
the  distribution  and  characteristics  of  mountain-sheep, 
partly  in  the  hope  of  throwing  light  upon  evolution  and 
the  origin  of  species.  On  my  return  home  I  learned 
from  Mr.  E.  A.  Preble  that  the  Survey  had  no  record 
of  sheep  having  been  found  in  the  vicinity  in  uhicii  I 
had  killed  these.  Later  I  sent  the  skin  and  head  to 
the  Survey  for  examination  and  comparison  by  Mr. 
Preble  and  Mr.  E.  W.  Nelson,  both  authorities  on  sheep. 
Mr.  Preble  writes  me  that  the  ram  is  very  similar  to  one 
collected  by  Mr.  Vreeland  near  Laurier  Pass,  among  the 
minor  differences  being  that  the  back  and  shoulder  of 
my  specimen  are  somewhat  browner  and  the  sides  of  the 
cheek  and  neck  more  flecked  with  iron-gray. 

From  the  smaller  sheep  we  took  the  horns  and  a 
portion  of  the  skull,  and  from  both  animals  \se  cut  the 
best  of  the  meat.     In   tlie   next   two  days  we  licvoied 


232    ON  THE   HEADWATERS   OF   PEACE   RIVER 

much  time  to  caring  for  our  trophies  and  to  drying  meat. 
The  sheep  and  bear  skins  had  to  be  scraped,  the  fat  re- 
moved, and  the  skins  stretched  out  to  dry.  Fortunately 
the  weather  was  clear  and  the  sun  hot,  so  that  the  dry- 
ing was  quickly  and  well  done.  The  bighorn  skull  had 
to  be  denuded  of  flesh  and  brains — no  small  task  of  it- 
self. We  cut  a  great  deal  of  the  meat  into  strips  and 
hung  it  on  a  rack  that  we  rigged  up  in  front  of  the  tent, 
where  it  would  catch  the  sun  and  also  receive  some 
smoke  and  heat  from  the  fire.  Meat  dried  in  this  way 
will  last  indefinitely,  and  though  the  flavor  is  not  much 
to  boast  of,  the  meat  is  nourishing  and  goes  well  in 
mulligans  and  similar  concoctions.  For  my  people  at 
home  I  dried  a  few  pounds  of  both  sheep  and  bear,  ac- 
cording to  the  receipt  given  by  Hornaday;  that  is,  I  first 
rubbed  on  the  meat  a  mixture  of  black  pepper,  allspice, 
and  salt,  after  which  I  dried  the  strips  in  the  sun. 

We  were  no  longer  in  danger  of  hunger.  We  nad 
great  heaps  of  meat.  When  we  tired  of  sheep  meat  we 
tried  bear  meat;  we  had  both  in  every  style — fried, 
roasted,  and  boiled,  and  between  meals  I  even  stuck 
pieces  on  sticks  before  the  fire  and  "siwashed"  them. 
Meat  was  almost  our  sole  diet,  for  we  had  only  three  or 
four  cups  of  mixed  corn-meal  and  flour,  with  plenty  of 
salt  and  tea  but  no  sugar.  Each  meal  we  ate  a  tiny 
piece  of  bannock  and  filled  up  on  meat.  The  amount 
of  meat  that  a  healthy  man  will  consume  under  such  cir- 
cumstances is  unbelievable.  I  am  afraid  to  tell  how 
much  we  ate,  but  I  will  say  that  after  this  experience  I 
ceased  to  doubt   stories  I   had  heard  of  half  a  dozen 


■'Ihk   r.\Mi'   R()hi!i;ks,  or   Canada  jays,  koind  oik  mkat-rack  Ii■:la..^I^IIu;. 

ATTRAtTIVE." 


Till.  Ciokci.  OK  Sim  I  r  (ki-ik. 


STONE'S   MOUNTAIN-SHMJ'  2^ 

hungry  Siwash  consmniii^  a   whole   i.uihou   m   a   single 
night. 

My  only  regret  was  that  \vc  luul  not  li.ul  sonic  of  this 
luck  up  the  Quadacha.  Tlicn  \vc  would  liavc  reached 
the  glacier ! 

We  were  not  alone  in  tlu-  feasting.  The  cami>-r<)l>- 
bers,  or  Canada  jays,  found  onr  nu-at-rack  irresistibly 
attractive.  There  were  do/ens  of  tlicin  scjuawking  round 
the  camp,  and  not  only  did  they  gorge  themselves  full, 
but  they  carried  off  pieces  of  meat  and  cached  them  f«»r 
future  reference.  Troublesome  as  these  birds  are.  they 
almost  gain  one's  admiration  by  their  very  impudence. 

After  an  early  supper  on  the  thiy  we  killed  the  sheep 
we  climbed  to  the  basin  that  containe<l  the  lakelet,  and 
found  a  few  old  caribou  tracks,  but  no  recent  ^igns  of 
game  of  any  sort.  The  spot  was  a  wonderfully  pic- 
turesque one,  for  the  water  was  clear  as  crystal,  while 
on  three  sides  the  black  cliffs  rose  sheer  for  thousands 
of  feet.  We  lingered  there  until  sunset  and  on  the 
homeward  way  sat  down  on  a  high  ridge  and  watched 
the  pink  sky  fade  behind  the  hundred  miles  of  jagged 
peaks  that  form  the  Kitchener  Range.  It  has  been  my 
fortune  to  see  a  few  sublime  sights  in  nature's  picture- 
gallery,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

WE  BUILD  A  RAFT  AND  RUN  PART  OF  THE  LONG 

CANYON 

One  fact  at  least  I  learned  from  this  trip  to  Peace 
River  headwaters:  by  the  time  one  has  travelled  five  or 
six  hundred  miles  by  canoe,  much  of  it  up-stream,  and 
has  toiled  over  the  mountains  for  weeks  with  a  heavy 
pack-sack  he  is  so  tired  and  worn  out  that  he  has  neither 
the  strength  nor  the  ambition  to  hunt  very  hard.  After 
killing  the  Stone's  sheep  as  described  in  the  last  chapter 
we  examined  the  country  round,  but  saw  no  other  game. 
There  were  old  caribou  tracks  about  the  lakelet  and 
elsewhere,  but  the  animals  themselves  had  either  mi- 
grated on  account  of  the  change  of  season,  or  else  had 
been  scared  out  of  the  country  by  the  Huston  party. 
We  had  hoped  that  the  carcasses  of  the  sheep  might 
attract  a  grizzly,  but  they  did  not,  and  lack  of  sign  led 
us  to  conclude  that  there  were  few  bears  of  any  sort  in 
the  region. 

By  moving  camp  farther  up  the  range  we  probably 
could  have  found  caribou  or  other  game,  but  we  already 
had  all  the  trophies  we  could  carry,  and  the  addition  of 
a  caribou  head  would  have  meant  another  trip — a  matter 
of  ten  days  at  least.  In  view  of  the  time  of  year  this 
would  be  a  serious  matter,  for  though  the  weather  had 
been  reasonably  good  thus  far,  and  we  were  able,  by 

234 


WE   BUILD   A    RAIT  235 

keeping  a  fire  going,  to  make  ourselves  reasonably  com- 
fortable at  night,  there  was  no  knowing  when  a  bli/zard 
might  strike  down  and  render  the  task  of  getting  out 
extremely  disagreeable  at  best.  Already  the  summits  of 
the  mountains  were  blanketed  with  a  white  pall,  most  of 
the  summer  birds  had  long  since  departed,  and  long 
strings  of  ducks  and  geese  from  the  lonely  lakes  and 
fens  of  the  farther  north  were  streaming  s(juthward 
across  the  sky.  Furthermore,  I  was  a  bit  fed  up  on 
slaughter,  and  the  sight  of  so  much  meat  rotting  on  the 
mountainsides  dulled  the  edge  of  my  desire  for  the 
chase.  When  we  felt  fairly  rested  from  our  strenuous 
labors  of  the  past  weeks  we  decided  to  set  out  on  the 
return,  thinking  that  I  would  probably  have  a  chance 
at  a  bear  or  a  moose  along  the  rivers  on  the  long  way 
out. 

The  way  was  long  indeed.  We  figured  that  we  were 
twenty-seven  miles  at  least  from  the  canyon,  while  from 
there  by  river  to  our  canoe  and  cache  was  about  twenty- 
three  miles  more.  Fifty  miles  in  a  civilized  country  does 
not  seem  far,  but  here  it  was  another  matter,  and  ue 
expected  to  be  a  week  or  thereabouts  in  reaching  once 
more  the  longed-for  supplies  in  our  cache.  After  that 
would  come  the  canoe  voyage  down  the  Finlay,  doun 
Peace  River  through  the  mountains,  around  the  great 
Canyon,  and  from  Hudson's  Hope  to  rail-head  at  Peace 
River  Crossing — weeks  of  steady  paddling.  Even  Joe 
had  never  taken  such  a  trip,  and  he  remarked  that  it 
was  "a  long  way  to  Tipperary !" 

A  day's  hard  travel  by  a  shorter  route  brought  us  to 


236    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

an  old  Siwash  camp  on  a  bluff  overlooking  the  creek  on 
which  stood  the  trapper's  cabin.  We  stopped  at  this 
cabin  and,  as  the  bunch  of  traps  that  had  been  on  top 
of  the  grub-box  was  gone,  we  knew  that  the  trapper  had 
been  back  that  way;  in  fact,  we  saw  his  fresh  tracks. 
The  grub  had  not  been  disturbed,  and  we  felt  so  weary 
of  a  practically  straight  meat  diet  that  we  took  enough 
flour  to  make  a  big  bannock,  leaving  in  exchange  some 
tea  and  four  small  cans  of  dehydrated  cranberries  and 
dehydrated  onions,  together  with  a  note  explaining  our 
plight  and  the  reason  for  making  the  exchange.  We 
wondered  a  good  deal  who  this  trapper  could  be  and 
whence  he  had  come,  nor  did  we  ever  learn,  but  I  feel 
sure  he  must  have  entered  the  country  by  way  of  Tele- 
graph Creek  on  the  Stickine. 

Soon  after  we  camped  I  crept  out  to  the  edge  of  the 
bluff  overlooking  the  marshy  bottom,  and  had  been 
there  hardly  a  minute  when  I  saw  a  moose  stick  its  head 
out  of  the  spruce  woods  on  the  other  side  and  take  a 
look  over  the  meadow.  After  surveying  the  scene  for  a 
minute  or  two  it  withdrew  its  head  and  I  could  catch 
occasional  glimpses  of  it  walking  among  the  low  spruce 
just  beyond  the  edge  of  the  marsh.  Two  or  three  times 
it  reappeared  at  the  edge  to  reconnoitre,  and  I  could  not 
but  admire  the  craft  it  displayed  in  looking  for  enemies 
before  venturing  out  on  its  feeding-ground.  Finally  it 
seemed  to  become  convinced  that  the  coast  was  clear, 
for  it  stepped  from  the  woods  into  the  open,  and  was 
quickly  hidden  from  view  in  a  fringe  of  willows  that 
grew  along  the  creek. 


WE   BUILD  A   RAFF  237 

The  animal  was  nearly  half  a  mile  away,  but  even  at 
that  distance  I  could  see  that  it  was  very  lar^c.  I  \s;js 
particularly  struck  with  the  size  of  the  "hell,"  l)ut  the 
creature  moved  so  quickl}'  in  the  ()i)cn  that  I  was  unable 
to  make  out  anything  about  its  horns.  From  the  si/c 
of  the  animal  and  of  the  "bell,"  however,  I  assumed 
that  it  was  a  bull. 

Dusk  was  already  falling,  and  it  was  useless  to  try 
to  hunt  the  animal  that  evening.  However,  we  had 
decided  to  rest  a  day  at  this  place,  and  I  watched  the 
marsh  next  morning,  but  without  result.  At  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  made  my  way  to  a  timbered 
"island"  in  the  marsh  and  hid  myself  on  a  little  hill 
about  three  hundred  yards  from  the  point  where  the 
moose  appeared  the  evening  before.  The  place  com- 
manded not  only  a  view  of  the  marsh  for  a  long  distance, 
but  also  of  the  pass  leading  toward  Fox  River  and  of 
the  mountains  on  either  side  of  it.  These  mountains 
are  exceedingly  rugged,  and  their  summits  are  either 
bare,  black  rock  or  else  are  covered  with  dwarf  shrubs. 
On  the  lower  slopes  groves  of  poplars,  touched  by  the 
autumnal  frosts,  glowed  like  vast  beds  of  yellow  tulips, 
while  the  leaves  on  the  shrubs  had  been  transformed  to 
a  magnificent  bronze  color.  Even  yet  the  spectacle  rises 
vivid  before  me:  the  yellow  poplars,  the  bronze  shrub- 
bery, the  wide  pass,  and  the  black  cliffs  of  the  peaks  on 
either  side.  How  glorious,  to  be  sure,  are  the  pictures 
preserved  on  the  film  of  memory  ! 

It  was  clear  to  me  now  that  had  we  kept  on  up  the 
Fox  River  range   instead   of  turning  down   to  the  LonR 


238    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Canyon  we  would  have  reached  this  pass,  though  we 
would  have  met  with  great  difficulties  on  the  way,  for 
the  summits  were  exceedingly  rugged.  The  mountains 
on  which  I  had  killed  the  sheep  and  the  bear  were  merely 
a  continuation  beyond  the  pass  of  the  Fox  River  range. 

For  half  an  hour  or  so  the  only  incident  to  break  the 
monotony  of  my  watch  was  the  sight  of  a  hawk  chasing 
a  small  duck;  from  the  speed  of  the  duck  I  concluded 
that  the  only  thing  the  hawk  would  get  out  of  the  pur- 
suit was  exercise.  I  did  not  expect  to  see  the  moose 
until  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  was,  therefore,  rather 
surprised,  on  scrutinizing  the  patch  of  willows  where 
the  animal  had  disappeared  the  preceding  day,  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  beast  moving  about.  There  were  really 
only  a  few  willows,  small  and  scattered,  yet  so  sinuous 
and  crafty  was  the  animal  that  for  long  intervals  I  was 
unable,  even  from  my  elevation,  to  see  it  at  all,  and  it 
was  fully  half  an  hour  before  I  got  a  good  look  at  its 
head.  When  I  finally  did  so  I  experienced  keen  disap- 
pointment. Despite  its  size  and  the  big  "bell,"  the 
animal  was  hornless  !  Instead  of  a  bull  the  moose  was 
merely  an  unusually  big  cow  with  an  unusually  big  bell. 

I  could  easily  have  shot  the  animal,  for  it  was  hardly 
two  hundred  yards  distant,  and  by  and  by  it  wandered 
still  nearer,  cropping  willows.  Had  I  been  vouchsafed 
the  same  opportunity  on  the  way  out,  I  am  afraid  I 
would  have  embraced  it,  but  now  we  had  plenty  of  meat 
and  the  thing  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  I  tried  to  secure 
a  picture  of  the  animal,  but  she  kept  so  carefully  to  the 
cover  of  the  willows  that  in  this,  too,  I  was  disappointed. 


WE   BUILD  A    RAFT  239 

For  a  long  time  she  waded  about  in  the  thicket,  then 
finally  worked  her  way  behind  the  projecting  point  of 
another  island,  and  I  saw  her  no  more. 

Why,  I  want  to  ask  here,  are  these  northwestern 
moose  practically  voiceless  ?  On  neither  of  my  trips  to 
that  region  have  I  heard  a  moose  bellow,  and  trappers 
tell  me  that  these  moose  rarely  call,  '^'et  they  seem  to 
be  identical  with  the  eastern  moose,  and  the  eastern 
bulls  make  the  woods  resound  in  the  rutting  season. 

That  night  we  were  favored — not  for  the  first  time — 
with  a  magnificent  display  of  the  aurora  borealis.  As  I 
watched  the  shifting,  uncanny  shafts  of  light  in  the  cold 
northern  sky  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  Crees  were  very 
apt  when  they  called  the  phenomenon  "the  dance  of 
the  spirits." 

A  watch  in  the  cold,  frosty  air  next  morning  proved 
unproductive,  so  we  set  off  for  the  Long  Canyon,  which 
we  reached  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  re- 
joiced when  we  found  our  little  bag  of  flour  and  meal 
untouched.  The  only  incident  worthy  of  remark  on  the 
trip  was  the  sight  of  a  fresh  sheep  wallow  and  fresh 
sheep  tracks  on  the  brink  of  the  gorge  of  Sheep  Creek, 
not  two  hundred  yards  from  the  Finlay. 

Some  distance  above  the  Long  Canyon  the  Finlay 
bends  to  the  southward  again  and  takes  its  rise  in  Thu- 
tade  Lake.  So  far  as  I  am  aware,  only  three  parties 
of  white  men  have  ever  ascended  the  river  above  the 
Long  Canyon:  Finlay's  party,  McConnell's  party,  and  a 
certain  Billy  Hedges,  a  trapper  and  prospector,  who  was 
accompanied    by  one   or   two   companions.     McConncll 


240    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

got  only  as  far  as  the  "Fishing  Lakes,"  where  he  found 
many  moose.  He  attributes  the  number  of  animals  in 
that  locality  to  the  fact  that  the  Siwash  have  a  super- 
stitious dread  of  the  country;  those  who  accompanied 
him  could  hardly  be  prevailed  upon  to  enter  its  pre- 
cincts. At  Grahame  one  of  the  Indians  drew  in  the 
sand  for  McConnell's  edification  a  sketch  of  a  footprint 
he  declared  he  had  seen,  and  it  was  fully  three  feet  long. 
Later  one  of  the  Indians  deserted  rather  than  face  the 
reputed  monsters. 

Both  Finlay  and  Hedges  got  as  far  as  Thutade 
Lake.  When  Hedges  came  out  three  years  ago  he 
brought  with  him  three  grizzly  cubs,  which  he  named 
Romeo,  Juliet,  and  Seton.  Seton  died,  but  the  other 
two  grew  up  to  bearhood.  When  Hedges  enlisted  and 
went  to  the  war,  he  sold  his  pets  to  a  menagerie. 

At  the  Long  Canyon  we  were  only  about  twenty- 
three  miles  from  our  cache  and  canoe,  but  the  going 
by  land  was  wretchedly  bad,  owing  to  rough  country 
and  burned  timber,  and  we  reckoned  that  it  would 
take  us  about  three  days  of  hard  labor  to  make  the 
trip.  We  were  both  anxious  to  get  to  the  cache, 
partly  to  assure  ourselves  of  its  safety,  but  mainly 
because  we  were  hankering  for  some  of  its  contents. 

"The  first  thing  I  shall  open  when  we  get  there  is 
that  pot  of  jam,"  I  said  that  night  as  we  sat  before 
our  fire  on  a  shelf  of  the  canyon  wall.  This  state- 
ment was  remarkable  because  at  home  I  rarely  eat 
jam.  I  presume  that  my  appetite  for  it  now  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  for  more  than  a  week  we  had  been 


WE  BUILD  A   RAKl'  241 

without  sugar  or  sweets  of  any  sort  except  a  few  bars 
of  milk  chocolate. 

A  grin  lit  up  Joe's  dusky  features.  ''I  was  just 
thinking  of  that  jam  myself,"  he  said. 

"Hot  cakes  with  some  of  that  maple  syrup  uili  ^o 
pretty  well,  too,"  I  continued. 

"I  want  some  of  those  beans,"  declared  Joe. 

The  prospect  of  waiting  three  days  before  we  could 
reach  the  delectable  jam  and  other  desirable  delicacies 
did  not  appeal  to  us.  Furthermore,  we  were  weary  of 
carrying  those  heavy  packs  over  rough  country,  and 
were  desperate  enough  for  anything.  Ever  since  reach- 
ing the  Canyon  the  first  time,  we  had  vaguely  spoken 
of  building  a  raft  and  running  down  the  river.  We  now 
definitely  decided  to  do  so.  To  be  sure,  we  knew  next 
to  nothing  about  the  water  in  that  stretch  of  the  stream, 
except  that  it  was  very  rough,  but  we  knew  that  the 
Huston  party  had  managed  to  get  this  far  with  boats. 
It  was  true  that  they  might  have  made  several  port- 
ages in  doing  so,  but  the  rapids  and  whirlpools  could 
go  hang !  We  were  going  to  have  that  jam  and  to  have 
it  the  very  next  evening  ! 

When  we  came  to  take  itemized  stock  of  our  mate- 
rials for  raft-building,  we  found  that  we  had  eight  ten- 
penny  nails,  which  I  had  been  carrying  in  my  sack,  a 
few  bits  of  twine,  the  straps  on  our  pack-sacks,  and 
some  medicated  gauze  !  We  also  picked  up  a  few  feet 
of  old,  half-rotten  rope  left  by  the  Huston  party,  and 
we  noticed  that  there  were  some  nails  in  the  Huston 
cache.     Our  only  tool  was  a  hatchet. 


242    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Bright  and  early  next  morning  Joe  found  some  dead 
spruce  two  or  three  hundred  feet  up  the  Canyon  wall, 
and  while  he  chopped  five  logs  I  made  a  mulligan,  sal- 
vaged some  nails  from  the  Huston  cache,  and  slid  the 
logs  down  hill  to  a  convenient  beach  below  the  cache. 
These  things  done,  we  assembled  the  logs  on  rollers  at 
the  edge  of  the  water,  with  the  two  larger  logs  on  the 
outside,  and  mortised  in  crosspieces  at  each  end.  These 
we  nailed  to  the  logs,  and  we  also  tied  the  logs  to  these 
crosspieces  with  our  sundry  straps,  twine,  rope,  and 
twisted  gauze!  Finally  I  nailed  on  two  transverse 
pieces  to  keep  the  logs  from  weaving  back  and  forth. 
The  great  trouble  was  the  weakness  of  the  lashings 
and  the  shortness  of  the  nails.  Finally  I  cut  two  dry 
spruce  poles,  while  Joe  made  some  wonderful  paddles, 
or  sweeps,  by  nailing  slabs  of  wood  to  some  shorter 
poles. 

It  was  after  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before 
the  good  craft  Necessity  was  launched  and  our  belong- 
ings placed  upon  it,  well  wrapped  in  the  balloon-silk 
tent.  It  hardly  seemed  possible  that  we  could  reach 
our  canoe  and  cache  before  night  fell,  but  the  attraction 
of  the  jam  was  irresistible,  and  after  I  had  taken  two 
pictures  we  pushed  off.  In  our  hurry  we  left  our  big- 
gest bag  of  dried  meat,  which  we  had  lugged  so  far, 
lying  upon  the  beach — to  the  joy,  no  doubt,  of  some 
coyote  or  bear. 

The  ride  that  followed  was  decidedly  the  most  ex- 
hilarating it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  enjoy. 
We  were  immediately  in  rough  water,  and,  past  the  first 


WE   BUILD  A    RAl  r  243 

bend,  we  were  caught   by  a  whirlpuul  tliat  whirled   us 
round  and  round  dizzily,  reminding  mc  of  the  ditty: 

"Swing  me  around  again,  Willie, 
Don't  let  my  feet  touch  the  ground  !  " 

By  dint  of  desperate  work  with  our  sweeps  we  got 
into  the  main  current  once  more  and  went  careering 
madly  along  between  the  black  cliff  walls.  In  some- 
places  we  were  able  to  find  pole-bottom,  in  others  wc 
had  to  use  our  sweeps,  but  we  generally  managed  to 
keep  our  craft  reasonably  straight.  Our  great  loncern 
was  not  to  run  upon  a  rock,  of  which  there  were  many, 
for  we  knew  that  our  craft  was  too  frail  to  stand  much 
pounding  and  would  certainly  go  to  pieces.  Luckily  the 
water  was  wonderfully  clear,  so  that  we  could  see  hid- 
den dangers  remarkably  wtII;  in  fact,  it  was  so  clear 
that  repeatedly  we  thought  ourselves  in  danger  from 
rocks  that  really  were  far  below  the  surface.  We  could 
only  travel  as  fast  as  the  current,  but  that  carried  us 
along  at  racing  speed,  and,  as  on  Crooked  River,  wc 
again  felt,  as  we  swept  over  the  clear  depths,  the  sensa- 
tion of  flying.  The  play  of  light  on  the  parti-colored 
boulders  that  formed  the  bottom  added  greatly  to  the 
charm  of  the  experience. 

Though  swells  repeatedly  dashed  over  our  craft,  we 
experienced  little  sense  of  danger.  Was  not  each  mo- 
ment bringing  us  nearer  the  coveted  |)ot  of  jam  ?  1  he 
most  ticklish  moment  came  when  we  neared  a  long 
chute  down  which  the  river  plunged  at  tremendous 
speed.     We  could   see  the  rocks  of  the  bottom   as  dis- 


244    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

tinctly  as  if  there  had  been  no  water  there — almost  more 
so — and  doubted  whether  our  craft  would  find  clearance, 
but  we  headed  her  straight  in  and  shot  through  without 
a  scratch. 

"This  is  the  life!"  exclaimed  Joe,  shaking  the  water 
off  his  boots,  and  we  both  laughed  like  schoolboys. 

A  few  miles  below  our  starting-point  the  walls  of  the 
canyon  fell  away,  and  on  the  left  bank  we  saw  the 
"Irish  Cabin,"  a  deserted  trapper's  shack  that  is  a 
landmark  in  this  region.  From  this  point  on  the  left 
bank  is  a  continuous  low  flat  reaching  to  the  Fox  River 
Mountains.  On  the  right  hand  the  mountains  continue 
farther  down,  and  around  the  head  of  Bower  Creek,  a 
swift  stream  that  empties  into  the  Finlay  a  couple  of 
miles  below  Irish  Cabin,  there  are  some  fine  rugged  peaks 
whose  appearance  bears  out  their  reputation  of  being 
good  for  both  sheep  and  caribou.  If  we  had  had  our 
canoe  and  supplies  at  the  mouth  of  this  creek  I  should 
have  liked  to  examine  the  country  for  a  few  days,  but, 
as  it  was,  we  drifted  by  without  stopping. 

Below  Bower  Creek  the  river  slowed  down  a  bit  but 
kept  up  a  good  pace  everywhere  and  especially  so  in  the 
ripples.  The  mountains  on  the  right  hand  fell  away, 
while  the  Fox  River  range  began  to  loom  nearer.  We 
could  see  this  range,  the  scene  of  earlier  trials,  for  a 
long  distance;  its  grass-covered  slopes,  its  black  peaks, 
and  the  golden  mantle  of  frost-touched  aspens  that 
clothed  its  foot-hills  made  up  a  splendid  spectacle.  This 
range  has  thus  far  received  no  name,  and  I  had  come 
to  call  it  the  Joffre  Range — after  a  very  noble  Frenchman. 


WE   BUILD  A   RAFT  245 

From  this  point  of  vantage  it  was  clear  that  we  liad 
dimbed  the  range  at  about  the  worst  place  possible,  and 
that  if  we  had  ascended  the  river  some  miles  farther 
we  would  have  had  a  much  easier  ascent  and  would  have 
saved  about  a  day's  hard  labor.  Such  is  one  ut  i he- 
penalties  of  penetrating  a  strange  country  without  a 
guide. 

When  the  sun  set  we  were  still  miles  from  the  steep 
slope  of  Prairie  Mountain  and  the  narrow  gap  through 
which  the  Finlay  breaks  its  way  to  the  great  Intcr- 
montane  Valley;  we  were  both  chilled  to  the  bone,  for 
the  night  was  turning  cold,  but  we  were  too  near  our 
goal  to  stop  now;  and  just  as  the  last  feeble  rays  of 
light  faintly  crimsoned  the  white  tops  of  the  Kitchener 
Range  behind  us  we  swept  through  a  final  swift  stretch 
of  water  and  grounded  our  raft  on  the  gravel-bar  be- 
neath our  cache.  We  had  floated  twenty-three  miles 
in  a  little  more  than  three  hours. 

My  first  act  was  to  leap  ashore  and  run  to  the  hid- 
ing-place of  our  canoe,  and  I  felt  relieved  to  find  it  safe. 
The  cache,  too,  seemed  undisturbed,  and  the  jam  was 
intact.     It  did  not  remain  intact  long ! 


CHAPTER   XIX 

BACK  TO   FINLAY   FORKS 

That  night,  full  of  jam  and  other  delectable  delica- 
cies, we  went  to  bed  in  Joe's  big  tent,  with  plenty  of 
blankets  both  above  and  beneath  us,  but  I  confess  that 
I  did  not  sleep  well.  A  couple  of  pack-rats  had  found 
our  cache,  and  though  they  had  done  almost  no  damage 
beyond  lugging  off  a  piece  of  dried  moose  meat,  they 
kept  running  over  and  through  the  tent  in  a  most  annoy- 
ing manner.  Repeatedly  I  lit  a  candle  and  put  them  to 
flight,  only  to  have  them  come  back  and  renew  the  per- 
formance about  the  time  I  was  dozing  off.  These  bold 
animals  are  a  great  pest  to  trappers,  and  their  propen- 
sity for  carrying  off  spoons,  knives,  cartridges,  and 
other  valuable  articles,  and  bringing  back  in  return 
spruce  cones,  sticks,  and  such  things  in  exchange  has 
caused  them  to  be  sometimes  called  "the  traders  of 
the  North."  Luckily  they  are  not  much  given  to  gnaw- 
ing into  boxes  or  other  similar  receptacles.  The  one  we 
saw  in  the  cabin  north  of  the  Long  Canyon  had  seem- 
ingly made  no  effort  to  get  into  the  grub-box;  an  ordi- 
nary rat  would  have  had  a  hole  in  it  and  all  the  con- 
tents devoured  or  spoiled  long  before.  Despite  my  vigi- 
lance, the  two  that  disturbed  us  managed  to  nibble  a 
small  hole  in  the  ridge  of   my  balloon-silk  tent,  which 

was  lying  on  top  of  my  bed. 

246 


BACK  TO   FINLAY   FORKS  247 

Toward  noon  next  day  we  began  our  long  river  jour- 
ney, the  terminus  of  which  was  Peace  River  Crossing, 
five  hundred  miles  away.  We  found  the  Quadacha  less 
white  than  when  we  had  last  seen  it;  evidently  the  freez- 
ing weather  was  diminishing  glacial  action.  The  Finlay 
below  the  junction  was  consequently  clearer  than  when 
we  had  come  up;  it  was  also  a  couple  of  feet  lower  and 
the  current  was  more  moderate.  The  poplar  and  birch 
leaves  had  all  been  transformed  by  the  Midas  touch  of 
frost  and  gave  a  golden  tinge  to  the  landscape.  All  day 
we  had  to  fight  a  nasty,  raw,  head  wind,  but  hour  after 
hour  we  plied  our  dripping  paddles,  and  the  current 
helped  us  on.  We  made  thirty  miles  before  we  camped, 
and  by  late  the  next  afternoon  we  were  once  more  at 
Deserter's  Canyon.  Two  mighty  loads  apiece  took  over 
all  our  belongings  except  the  canoe,  and  we  slept  that 
night  at  the  lower  end  of  the  portage.  Next  morning 
we  brought  over  the  canoe,  bade  good-by  to  the  now 
snow-crowned  peak  that  stands  sentinel  over  the  can- 
yon, and  by  eleven  o'clock  reached  Shorty  Webber's 
cabin.  Although  our  progress  had  been  slower  than  it 
would  have  been  if  the  stream  had  been  higher,  we  found 
that  in  about  two  hours'  time  we  could  undo  a  whole 
day's  labor  going  up.  The  lowness  of  the  stream  had 
one  great  advantage,  namely,  that  the  water  was  less 
rough  in  the  bad  places;  as  it  was,  we  shipped  the  tops 
of  swells  two  or  three  times,  notably  in  making  the 
approach  to  the  landing  above  Deserter's  Canyon. 

It  was  interesting  to  notice  how  Joe's  spirits  im- 
proved now  that  he  was  once  more  on  the  water.     In 


248    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

the  mountains  he  had  been  morose  and  crabbed;  now 
the  shores  resounded  once  more  to  the  strains  of  "  Molly 
Maclntyre."  Like  most  French  Canadians,  Joe  feels  at 
home  only  on  the  river. 

We  expected  to  find  Webber  at  home,  but  though  a 
great  heap  of  wood  outside  and  the  presence  of  his  fur- 
niture and  supplies  inside  the  cabin  bore  evidence  that 
he  had  been  there,  a  note  on  the  rough  table  informed 
us  that  he  had  returned  to  Fort  Grahame.  Generous 
Shorty !  The  note  told  us  to  help  ourselves  to  anything 
we  needed,  and  the  good  fellow  had  set  out  a  profuse 
supply  of  dried  moose  meat  where  we  could  not  fail  to 
find  it.  Happily  we  were  in  need  of  nothing  except 
a  spoonful  of  baking-powder,  which  we  took,  but  we 
were  none  the  less  grateful.  The  little  man  had  his 
cabin  ornamented  with  pictures  cut  from  magazines  and 
Sunday  newspapers,  and  he  had,  wonder  of  wonders !  a 
little  phonograph  and  about  half  a  dozen  records.  While 
we  cooked  and  ate  lunch  we  played  them  all.  One  of 
them  was  "Home,  Sweet  Home !"  A  phonograph  seems 
an  odd  piece  of  furniture  to  find  in  a  trapper's  cabin  at 
the  back  of  beyond,  but  I  presume  that  one  really  affords 
a  great  deal  of  company  in  the  long  winter  evenings  out 
there  in  the  great  snowy  forest. 

We  reached  Fort  Grahame  at  5.30,  stopping  on  the 
way  thither  to  see  the  Indian  graveyard  on  the  moun- 
tainside above  the  fort.  The  Indians  have  bestowed 
much  more  care  on  this  graveyard,  the  spot  they  have 
selected  for  their  eternal  rest,  than  on  their  usual  abodes. 
Most  of  the  graves  are  covered  with  neat  "chicken-coop" 


Indian  (.k.wkvakd  at  I'ort  Ckaiiami 


Glli.->oN^    1'1.A<  J.    Jl.sl     AlitAl.     I  1M.A\     luKJ 


BACK  TO   FINLAY   FORKS  249 

structures,  made  of  whip-sawed  boards  and  painted 
green  and  white.  A  cross  at  the  head  of  most  of  the 
graves  indicates  the  nominal  belief  of  those  wh..  rest 
beneath.  The  impression  the  spot  made  on  mc  was 
sorrowful,  particularly  when  I  thought  of  the  wiidncss 
of  the  place  and  the  inevitable  fate  of  the  tribe  who 
made  it;  yet  I  suppose  the  feeling  was  illogical.  Surely 
the  road  to  heaven  is  as  short  from  that  little  graveyard 
on  the  lonely  Finlay  as  it  is  from  the  crowded  ceme- 
teries that  lie  within  sound  of  the  roar  of  mighty  cities. 

Joe  and  Shorty  Webber  acted  as  cooks  that  night, 
and  we  all  slept  in  Fox's  cabin,  the  first  roof  I  had  slept 
under  since  leaving  Prince  George  many  weeks  before. 
We  remained  awake  far  into  the  night,  and  Fox  told 
us  many  stories  of  his  long  stay  at  Grahame,  some  of 
which  I  have  already  related.  He  also  had  for  me  the 
unwelcome  intelligence  that  a  Siwash  husky  had  torn 
the  hind  leg  off  my  brown  bearskin.  Joe  was  very  in- 
dignant at  the  dog,  but  I  suggested  that  the  creature 
was  merely  acting  according  to  his  nature,  and  that 
perhaps  the  real  fault  lay  in  the  man  who  had  persisted 
in  nailing  the  skin  so  low  that  the  dog  could  reach  it. 

In  our  absence  Fox  had  made  a  trip  to  the  Forks,  in 
order  to  vote  in  the  provincial  election.  Eighteen  bal- 
lots, as  I  remember  it,  had  been  cast  at  that  polling- 
place,  which  is  a  fairly  complete  measure  of  the  white 
population  in  the  immense  Parsnip  and  Finlay  and  upper 
Peace  country.  The  returns  had  been  sent  to  Hudson's 
Hope,  a  hundred  miles  down-stream,  and  when  Fox  left 
the   Forks  the  general   result  was   still   unknown.     The 


250    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE   RIVER 

Conservative  candidate's  election  tour  through  the  re- 
gion had  borne  fruit,  for  he  had  received  about  three- 
fourths  of  the  votes  cast  at  the  Forks.  Much  more  in- 
teresting to  me  was  the  news  that  Roumania  had  thrown 
aside  her  neutrality  and  had  entered  the  war  on  the 
side  of  civilization. 

"Good-by  and  good  luck!"  we  called  to  Fox  and 
Shorty  next  morning  when  we  had  pushed  out  into  the 
river. 

"Good-by  and  good  luck  to  you!"  they  echoed 
back. 

I  thought  that  both  looked  a  bit  wistful.  We  were 
going  out  into  the  Grand  Pays  once  more,  to  the  haunts 
of  men,  while  they  had  before  them  a  long  and  dreary 
winter  remote  from  their  kind.  Fox's  children  were  in 
some  town  on  the  coast  of  the  Province,  and  this  no 
doubt  added  to  his  loneliness.  Shorty  had  hoped  that 
Joe  would  return  to  keep  him  company  in  the  country 
about  Deserter's  Canyon,  and  felt  much  disappointed 
when  he  learned  that  Joe  meant  to  remain  at  Fort 
George.  Now  the  little  German  would  have  no  com- 
pany except  his  dog  and  phonograph. 

To  oblige  Fox  we  agreed  to  carry  as  far  as  Finlay 
Forks  a  fifty-pound  sack  of  moosehide  babiche  for  lac- 
ing snow-shoes,  the  babiche  being  destined  for  Fort  St. 
John,  where  there  are  few  moose.  Beyond  the  Forks 
we  could  not  promise  to  take  it,  for  we  had  some  more 
stufiF  of  our  own  to  take  aboard  there.  Babiche,  by  the 
way,  retails  at  from  two  to  three  dollars  a  pound. 

Some  miles  below  Grahame  we  met  Ross,  the  freighter. 


I 


BACK    TO   KINLA\'    FORKS 


2;i 


on  a  mission  to  the  fort.  He  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Summit  Lake  alone  in  his  little  Chestnut,  and  he 
had  much  later  news  of  the  outside  world  than  Fox 
had  been  able  to  give  us.  Fie  reported  that  the  Rou- 
manians were  making  great  headway  against  Austria, 
that  both  suffrage  and  prohibition  had  been  carried  in 
British  Columbia,  and  that  the  Conservative  party  had 
been  ingloriously  routed.  A  few  miles  back  he  liad 
seen  a  big  bull  moose  walking  along  the  shore  within 
a  hundred  feet  of  him. 

It  seemed  bad  luck,  indeed,  that  he,  who  had  no 
rifle,  should  have  seen  the  moose,  while  we,  who  had 
three,  did  not.  We  saw  no  big  game  whatever  on  our 
way  down  the  Finlay,  though  we  did  see  many  flocks  of 
ducks,  chiefly  a  species  of  black  duck.  I  did  some  mis- 
erable shooting  at  these  birds  with  the  little  rifle,  and 
before  reaching  the  Forks  hit  only  two,  when  I  ought 
to  have  killed  three  or  four  times  that  many.  Joe  was 
charitable  enough  to  ascribe  my  poor  success  to  the 
rifle,  but  doubtless  shooting  from  a  moving  canoe  at 
moving  objects,  a  front  sight  the  color  of  the  water,  and 
the  fact  that  the  ranges  were  from  sixty  to  over  a  hun- 
dred yards  were  the  main  causes.  However,  when  I 
finally  gave  the  rifle  a  thorough  scouring  out,  I  did 
better,  but  this  was  after  we  passed  the  Forks.  My 
failure  to  kill  more  ducks  was  the  more  regrettable  be- 
cause we  were  having  no  luck  fishing  and  the  ducks  were 
astonishingly  fat  and  tender  and  truly  delicious. 

Some  miles  below  where  we  met  Ross  we  saw  the 
camp  of  Booth   and   his  squaw  and   paused   for  a   few 


252    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

minutes'  chat.  The  klooch  looked  husky  and  not  un- 
comely. She  remained  on  the  bank  above  and  paid  no 
heed  to  Joe's  salutations. 

The  next  morning  we  passed  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Ospica  the  camp  of  Charlie  Hunter  and  his  big  family, 
and  below  the  Omineca  we  met  Angus  Sherwood  and 
his  partner  McKennon  on  their  way  to  their  trapping- 
ground  up  the  Omineca.  Sherwood,  who  is  a  State  of 
Maine  man  and  probably  the  most  competent  person 
in  the  whole  Finlay  region,  was  once  a  partner  of  my 
old  friend,  Adolf  Anderson,  down  in  the  Thompson 
River  country  and  also  of  another  friend,  Jim  Beattie, 
whom  I  was  expecting  to  see  at  Hudson's  Hope.  We 
had  already  met  Sherwood  with  Huston's  party,  and 
he  now  told  us  that  it  was  the  Huston  party  that  left 
the  food  in  the  grub-box  in  the  cabin  above  the  Long 
Canyon.  Imagine  the  trapper's  amusement  when  he 
read  our  note  explaining  and  apologizing  for  the  trade 
we  had  made ! 

We  lunched  that  day  on  Pete  Toy's  celebrated  bar, 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  say  hello  to  Gibson,  dug  some 
splendid  potatoes  at  Joe's  shack  half  a  mile  above  the 
Forks,  and  by  mid-afternoon  reached  Peterson's.  We 
had  a  grand  feed  that  night,  including  some  excellent 
graham  bread.  Smith  and  Staggy  paddled  over  after 
supper,  and  we  sat  up  far  into  the  night  listening  to  old 
Peterson's  stories  of  early  days  on  the  Parsnip. 

Peterson,  I  shall  remark  here,  is  a  cross-grained  old 
stick  of  oak.  Naturally  very  kind-hearted,  he  has  suf- 
fered  many  disappointments  and   is   irascible  and   hot- 


BACK  TO   FINLAY   KORKS  253 

tempered.  He  has  quarrelled  with  hiill  the  dwellers  on 
the  border-land  and  has  had  personal  contlicts  \\ith  sev- 
eral of  them.  He  now  lives  in  a  state  of  feud  with  vari- 
ous trappers  and  prospectors.  His  cabin  is  a  veritable 
arsenal,  and  a  loaded  rifle  stands  beside  every  doorway 
and  in  every  corner.  Notwithstanding,  the  old  man 
has  many  admirable  qualities,  and  I  can  say,  as  regards 
my  own  feelings  for  him,  that  I  hope  all  of  his  dreams 
of  a  rich  town  site  on  his  quarter  section  may  soon 
come  true ! 


CHAPTER   XX 
THE  MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER 

Henceforth  the  journey  was  to  be  through  what 
was  to  me  new  country,  for,  instead  of  returning  by  way 
of  the  Parsnip,  I  had  planned  to  float  down  the  Peace. 
The  next  stage  of  our  travels  lay  along  that  stretch  of 
the  Peace  where  the  great  river  bursts  its  way  through 
the  mighty  barrier  wall  of  the  Rockies. 

A  mile  or  so  below  the  Forks  we  came  to  the  Finlay 
Rapid,  a  stretch  of  about  half  a  mile  where  the  river 
runs  over  a  rough  rock  bed,  creating  dangerous,  curling 
waves  in  the  centre  of  the  stream,  while  near  the  shores 
ledges  and  detached  boulders  render  straightaway  navi- 
gation impossible.  Travelers  on  Peace  River  have 
made  much  of  this  rapid,  yet  it  is  not  a  very  impressive 
spectacle.  It  is,  of  course,  an  obstacle  to  navigation, 
but  any  tyro  can  easily  carry  round  it.  The  passage  is 
usually  made  by  the  south  side,  but  in  the  existing  low 
stage  of  water  Joe  elected  to  go  by  the  north  side.  By 
use  of  a  pole,  the  tracking-rope,  a  little  wading  and  lift- 
ing and  shoving,  we  got  the  canoe  and  load  through 
without  portaging  anything  except  my  camera  and  big 
rifle. 

As  we  had  made  a  late  start,  we  lunched  a  few  miles 
below  the  rapid  on  the  beach  at  Poker  Flats.  On  the 
oank  above  stood  a  cabin  in  which  two  miners  had  died 

2S4 


THE   MIGHTY   PKACE    RIVER  255 

of  scurvy  in  the  winter  of  1898-9.  They  were  Ifurird 
in  the  dirt  floor  by  their  surviving  partner,  wh(j  later 
managed  to  make  his  way  to  Edmonton,  where  he  died 
in  a  hospital.  In  his  last  hours  he  is  said  to  have  told 
of  an  immensely  rich  bar,  yielding  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars  to  the  pan,  and  of  a  great  hoard  of 
buried  gold.  More  than  once  travelers  unacquainted 
with  the  story  of  the  cabin  have  slei)t  in  it,  but  no  one 
who  knows  the  meaning  of  the  depression  in  the  flfx^r 
has  ever  slept  there  no  matter  how  the  blizzard  may 
roar.  To  Poker  Flats  the  north  shore  is  low  and  cov- 
ered with  forest,  but  we  were  now  entering  the  moun- 
tains, running  between  great,  jagged  peaks.  When  we 
came  to  Wicked  River,  a  swift  stream  that  does  not  be- 
lie its  name,  we  noticed  a  cabin  belonging  to  a  certain 
"Slim'*  Cowart,  a  friend  of  Joe's.  "Slim"  liad  left  it 
to  go  out  and  look  after  some  lots  he  owned  in  Prince 
George. 

"Do  you  see  that  little  beach  yonder .''"  said  Joe, 
pointing  up  the  Wicked.  "It  was  there  I  shot  my  griz- 
zly last  spring.  I  had  been  out  hunting  all  day  and 
had  seen  nothing  at  all.  When  I  was  almost  back  to 
camp  I  saw  a  big  silvertip  lumbering  along  right  across 
from  me.  He  wasn't  forty  yards  from  me,  and  1  took 
good  aim  at  his  head.  When  I  pulled  trigger  he  sunk 
right  down  and  died  quietly,  without  a  row  of  any  sort. 
The  skin  was  a  prime  one,  and  I  sold  it  to  Huston  for 
forty-five  dollars." 

Just  below  Wicked  River  we  came  upon  a  flock  of 
black  ducks,  and  my  first  bullet  killed  one  of  them.     All 


256    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

of  them  were  full  grown  and  well  able  to  fly,  but  they 
were  very  fat  and  about  half  of  them  elected  to  dive 
instead  of  taking  wing.  As  a  result,  I  was  able  to  shoot 
two  more  before  the  survivors  discovered  that  the  air 
was  a  safer  element  than  the  water.  As  I  continued  to 
have  success  farther  down,  it  was  evident  that  either  I 
had  found  my  shooting  eye  again,  or  else  the  scouring  I 
had  given  the  little  rifle  had  been  helpful.  Unfortu- 
nately, soon  after  I  began  to  get  results  the  cartridges 
gave  out. 

A  little  beyond  the  mouth  of  Wicked  River  Mount 
Selwyn  towers  up  on  the  south  shore.  This  peak  rises 
right  up  from  the  water's  edge,  and  its  northern  face  is 
almost  sheer.  In  reality  there  are  three  peaks,  the 
southernmost,  which  is  not  visible  from  the  river,  being 
the  tallest — about  7,500  feet.  Selwyn  is  known  all 
through  the  north  as  "the  Mountain  of  Gold."  From 
reading  previous  descriptions  of  it  I  had  infeired  that 
the  whole  mountain  is  a  mighty  mass  of  gold  quartz, 
but  this  is  a  mistake.  It  is  only  a  sort  of  foot-hill  or 
buttress  on  the  up-stream  side  that  is  composed  of 
quartz,  the  rest  being  seemingly  a  sort  of  hard  slate. 
Whether  the  quartz  runs  under  the  mountain  or  the 
slate  from  the  mountain  runs  under  the  quartz  I  do 
not  know,  but  from  the  river  the  line  of  contact  looks 
as  if  the  latter  were  the  case.  The  quartz  is  said  to 
reappear  farther  back.  At  any  rate,  millions  of  tons  of 
it  are  visible  from  the  river,  and  assays  are  said  to  run 
from  three  dollars  a  ton  up  to  about  eighteen.  Thus 
far  the  cost  of  transporting  supplies  has  been  too  great 


Ri-l)r()(lucc<l  from  a  photou'raiili  li\   M    I;    II  .  ; 

Slim  Cowakt's  <  ahi.\  nkar  Mt.  Si;i.\vv\. 


Ri-prodiu-ol  fr.ini  a  iilioloLT,i|.li  liy  \I    I;    llu-i    ii 

R<)<  K  .\k(  II  ON  WK  Ki  II  kni.K. 


THE   MIGHTY   l^tACL    RI\LR  257 

for  any  serious  work  to  be  done,  but  the  ore  is  all  staked 
out  and  enough  blasting  done  to  comply  with  the  min- 
ing laws.  When  we  passed  no  one  was  living  there, 
there  being  only  one  permanently  occupied  cabin  be- 
tween the  Forks  and  the  Crcat  Canyon.  The  advent 
of  a  railroad  may  change  ail  this,  and  steamers  will 
probably  be  put  on  the  river.  There  is  said  to  he  plenty 
of  coal  along  the  Carbon  River,  not  far  above  the  C.in- 
yon,  and  a  few  years  may  witness  some  busy  scenes 
about  Selwyn.  The  great  Treadwell  mine  on  the  west 
coast,  said  to  be  one  of  the  best  paying  propositions  in 
America,  is  composed  of  low-grade  ore,  no  richer,  I 
have  been  told,  than  that  of  Selwyn  is  supposed  to 
be. 

Mica,  with  large,  clear  sheets  and  fine  cleavage,  is 
also  said  to  exist  in  the  neighborhood  of  Selwyn,  but 
we  did  not  see  it.  Nearer  the  Canyon  there  are  large 
deposits  of  coal,  and  along  one  stretch  of  the  river,  for 
several  hundred  yards,  we  got  strong  whiffs  of  sulphur 
or  natural  gas,  I  could  not  be  sure  which. 

For  thirty  miles  or  so  beyond  Mount  Selwyn  the 
river  flows  right  through  the  main  chain  of  the  Rockies, 
and  the  scenery  on  either  hand  is  grand  and  gloomy 
beyond  description.  The  peaks  are  extremely  steep  and 
ragged,  and  many  of  them  rise  a  mile  right  up  from  the 
river.  In  the  face  of  a  great  cliff,  thousands  of  feet  up, 
we  noticed  the  black  mouth  of  a  mighty  cave.  I  am 
convinced  that  in  time  the  ride  through  this  gorge  will 
be  widely  known  as  one  of  the  great  scenic  wonders  of 
America.     Just    let    some    enterprising    company   get    a 


258    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

railroad  built  through  it,  and  then  you  will  hear  of  it ! 
Even  after  so  many  weeks  of  wandering  among  moun- 
tains I  was  strongly  impressed  by  the  spectacle.  With 
-the  exception  of  the  Liard,  the  Peace  is  the  only  river 
that  breaks  its  way  through  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
either  in  Canada  or  the  United  States.  Unfortunately, 
we  passed  through  amid  a  storm  of  rain  and  snow  from 
low-lying,  wind-driven  clouds  that  rendered  picture-tak- 
ing impracticable  until  we  reached  the  eastern  limits  of 
the  high  mountains  next  day. 

About  mid-afternoon,  the  storm  of  rain  beating  in 
our  faces — it  was  snowing,  of  course,  on  the  mountain 
tops — became  so  insupportable  that  we  camped  at  the 
mouth  of  Barnard  Creek,  a  stream  that  enters  from 
the  north.  While  Joe  was  cooking  supper  I  took  my 
rod  and  rifle  and  made  my  way  down  to  the  mouth  of 
the  creek — or  rather  mouths,  for  there  were  several 
outlets  through  the  gravel-bar — in  the  hope  of  catching 
some  arctics.  I  had  no  luck  whatever,  but  on  my  way 
back  to  camp  I  happened  to  glance  up  at  a  high  cut 
bank  opposite  and  saw  a  black  bear  eating  red  willow 
berries  in  a  little  plot  of  thicket  that  had  slid  forty  or 
fifty  feet  down  from  the  top. 

I  at  once  began  to  consider  ways  and  means  of  get- 
ting a  good  shot,  but  the  prospect  was  not  encouraging. 
The  river  at  that  point  was  fully  three  hundred  yards 
wide,  while  the  bluff  where  the  bear  was  feeding  ran  up 
five  or  six  hundred  feet  and,  of  course,  sloped  back 
somewhat.  On  the  leeward  side  the  bluff  extended  along 
the  river  for  nearly  a  mile,  and  to  make  such  a  detour 


THE   MIGUi^'    I'LACL:    RWER  259 

would  have  required  an  hour  or  more,  wliicli  was  not  to 
be  thought  of,  for  dusk,  was  aheady  falhn^'.  As  a  bear's 
eyesight  is  rather  bad,  it  would  probably  have  been 
better  to  have  boldly  crossed  in  the  canoe  to  the  focjt 
of  the  bluff,  but  there  was  a  chance  that  the  bear  mij^ht 
come  down  to  the  river  to  drink,  so  I  merely  sat  and 
waited.  Meanwhile  it  was  growing  dark  fast,  and  by 
and  by  the  bear  moved  upward,  so  that  it  appeared 
that  he  had  no  idea  of  descending  t(j  the  water.  It  was 
clear  that  I  would  either  have  to  take  a  long  shot  or 
else  let  bruin  entirely  alone.  It  was  already  so  dark 
that  I  could  not  see  the  sights  at  all  well,  but  I  raised 
the  rear  one  to  four  hundred  yards,  and,  with  a  prayerful 
hope  rather  than  any  real  expectation,  took  as  good  aim 
as  the  light  would  permit  and  pulled  the  trigger.  For 
two  or  three  minutes  the  bear  hid  in  the  bushes,  then 
began  to  climb  the  bank.  I  fired  twice  more  at  him 
on  the  move.  When  he  neared  the  top  he  slipped  and 
fell  back,  and  for  a  moment  I  thought  he  was  disabled, 
but  he  recovered  himself,  took  a  less  precipitous  course, 
reached  the  top,  and  disappeared  in  the  thick  spruce 
woods  on  top.  Whether  or  not  I  hit  him  I  shall  never 
know.     I  sincerely  hope  not. 

The  episode  well  illustrates  one  of  the  provoking 
features  of  big-game  huntmg:  namely,  one  sees  much 
game  at  times  when  the  failing  light  renders  it  impossi- 
ble for  the  hunter  to  make  a  careful  stalk. 

There  are  said  to  be  a  good  many  bears,  both  black 
bears  and  grizzlies,  along  this  section  of  the  river.  The 
spring  before  Joe  and  Slim  Cowart  made  a  trip  up  one 


26o    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

of  the  small  streams  that  flow  in  from  the  north  and 
saw  the  track  of  a  perfectly  enormous  grizzly. 

"It  was  so  big  that  it  made  me  feel  shivery  all  over 
and  look  around  me,"  declared  Joe. 

He  thinks  it  may  have  been  this  bear  that  "killed 
and  ate  two  Siwash"  in  this  region  at  some  time — in- 
determinate— in  the  past.  He  admitted,  however,  that 
the  Siwash  may  have  been  mythical,  the  products  of 
some  trapper's  fertile  imagination. 

Toward  noon  next  day  we  neared  a  cut  bank  on  the 
north  shore,  and  Joe,  after  standing  up  for  a  better  look, 
announced: 

"Yonder  is  Parle  Pas  Rapids." 

There  was  no  sign  of  rapids  until  we  were  close  up, 
for  the  water  drops  enough  to  hide  the  white  breakers 
below,  while  a  boatman  going  down-stream  hears  very 
little  noise,  particularly  if  the  wind  happens  to  be  down- 
stream. It  is  this  latter  characteristic  that  has  given 
the  place  its  name,  "  Rapide  qui  ne  parle  paSy'  that  is, 
"Rapid  that  does  not  speak."  A  couple  of  years  before 
this  lack  of  warning  had  tragic  consequences  for  two 
greenhorns  who  were  descending  the  river.  They  failed 
to  keep  a  good  watch  ahead,  and  before  they  knew  it 
were  in  the  grip  of  the  rapids.  Their  canoe  was  upset 
and  one  of  them  was  drowned.  The  other  managed  to 
reach  Hudson's  Hope  in  a  dazed  condition. 

The  Parle  Pas  Rapids  are  about  a  thousand  feet 
long  and  are  caused  by  a  nearly  horizontal  bed  of  stone 
outcropping  in  the  river  bed,  over  which  the  water  flows 
in  most  places  in  a  thin  sheet.     Properly  managed,  the 


THE  MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  261 

descent  presents  no  great  difficulties;  by  using  the  rope 
and  by  doing  a  little  wading  and  shoving  in  shallow 
places  we  got  the  canoe  past  along  the  north  shore, 
without  taking  anything  except  a  few  of  our  most  valu- 
able articles  out  of  it. 

These  rapids  mark  the  eastern  limit  of  the  main 
range  of  the  Rockies,  as  do  the  Finlay  Rapids  their  west- 
ern limit.  Considering  the  immense  magnitude  of  the 
break,  it  is  astonishing  that  the  river's  course  should  be 
so  smooth  and  level.  The  current,  to  be  sure,  is  lively, 
averaging  perhaps  four  miles  an  hour,  but  these  two 
rapids  are  the  only  noteworthy  instances  of  rough  water, 
and  even  they  are  hardly  awe-inspiring.  The  fact  that 
Peace  River  has  worn  down  its  bed  until  it  is  so  com- 
paratively level  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  drain- 
age system  and  the  mountains  through  which  it  breaks 
are  very,  very  old. 

We  lunched  that  day  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ottertail, 
a  fine,  large  mountain  stream  that  flows  into  the  Peace 
by  three  outlets.  The  sun  had  now  come  out  and  the 
weather  was  warmer,  and  I  managed  to  catch  three  fine 
arctics  and  two  sapi  at  this  place,  one  of  the  latter  bemg 
a  four-pound  fish.  At  the  mouth  of  a  creek  farther 
down  I  also  landed  another  sapi.  For  some  time  \se 
had  been  having  no  luck  angling,  and  these  fish  furnished 
a  welcome  change  from  our  usual  diet.  Our  ill  luck  had 
no  doubt  been  partly  due  to  cold,  cloudy  weather,  but 
in  part  probably  to  the  fact  that  most  of  the  arctics  had 
gone  up  the  small  streams  to  spawn.  In  females  of  both 
the  arctics  and  the  sapi  we  found  eggs. 


262    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

High,  rounded  hills  had  now  replaced  the  ragged 
mountains,  and  from  a  little  below  the  Ottertail  the 
hills  on  the  north  shore  were  for  the  most  part  practi- 
cally bare  of  trees  and  covered  with  grass.  Those  on 
the  south  shore  continued  to  be  more  or  less  timbered 
with  spruce,  pine,  and  poplar,  though  few  of  the  trees 
are  big  enough  for  lumber,  being  low  and  limby.  Gen- 
erally speaking,  this  condition  of  timber  on  the  south 
shore  and  grass  on  the  north  shore  continues  for  hun- 
dreds of  miles,  at  least  as  far  as  to  Peace  River  Crossing. 
I  have  met  no  one  who  could  give  a  thoroughly  satis- 
factory explanation  of  the  phenomenon.  Mr.  Brenot,  a 
Dominion  land-surveyor  whom  I  met  below  Hudson's 
Hope,  suggests  that  possibly  it  is  because  of  the  fact 
that  for  generations  voyageurs  have  camped  on  the 
northern  bank,  this  being  the  sunny  side,  with  the  result 
that  more  forest  fires  have  occurred  on  this  bank,  thus 
denuding  the  country  of  timber  and  permitting  grass 
to  grow. 

In  many  places  the  hills  rise  from  the  river  in  a  suc- 
cession of  terraces,  some  of  which  look  very  much  like 
long  railway  cuts  or  embankments  along  the  hillsides. 
The  terraces  probably  mark  old  river-levels. 

In  the  spring  and  early  fall  the  bare  hillsides  are  a 
great  resort  for  bears.  On  one  hill  that  Joe  pointed  out 
to  me  a  party  of  white  men  going  down  the  preceding 
spring  had  seen  seven  or  eight  grizzlies  scattered  about, 
feeding  on  grass  and  roots.  Two  of  the  men  landed  and 
tried  to  get  a  shot,  but  a  party  of  Beaver  Indians,  whose 
presence  they  did  not  suspect,  were  nearer  and  managed 


THE   MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  263 

to  kill  five  bears  before  the  white  men  could  come  up. 
This  story  seems  a  bit  incredible,  but  Joe  claimed  to 
have  been  present,  and  it  was  vouched  for  by  several 
other  persons  at  Hudson's  Hope. 

We  slept  that  night  in  a  comfortable  cabin  at  Brcn- 
nan's  Flat,  the  cabin  being  the  proi)erty  of  a  man  who 
located  there  some  years  before  and  gave  his  name  to 
the  spot.  Brennan  was  absent,  as  were  his  two  partners, 
Wood  and  Taylor,  but  we  made  ourselves  at  home  and 
had  a  big  feast  that  night  on  two  of  our  ducks,  and  on 
some  of  our  trout  next  morning.  The  flat  is  noteworthy 
for  two  things:  there  are  mule-deer  in  the  country  behind 
it,  while  some  of  the  gravel-bars  along  it  contain  gold. 
We  saw  two  miniature  Ferris  wheels  rigged  up  on  rafts 
alongside  two  of  these  bars,  the  idea  being  that  the  cur- 
rent should  turn  the  wheels  and  lift  water  to  wash  the 
gravel  thrown  into  the  sluices  on  the  bar.  Only  a  little 
work  had  been  done,  and  we  later  learned  that  owing 
to  the  low  stage  of  the  river  the  current  was  not  strong 
enough  to  turn  the  wheels. 

Despite  bitter  cold  and  a  dense  fog  we  were  off  next 
morning  before  sunrise,  being  anxious  to  make  the  Can- 
yon and  cross  the  portage  that  day.  Some  miles  below 
Brennan's  we  found  a  survey  outfit  shivering  around 
their  fires  waiting  for  breakfast,  and  we  stopped  a  few 
minutes  that  Joe  might  secure  from  the  head  sur\'eyor 
a  signature  to  a  paper  connected  in  some  way  with 
Joe's  pre-emption  at  the  Forks.  The  party  had  been 
working  around  the  Forks  when  we  started  up  Finlay 
River,  and  I  had  already  met  several  of  the  men. 


264    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Farther  down  the  river  we  passed  another  party  of 
men  in  camp  upon  the  bank.  One  of  them  recognized 
my  helper  and  shouted: 

"Hello,  Joe!" 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Joe  in  return. 

Some  name  was  shouted  back,  but  Joe  is  a  little  deaf, 
while  I,  being  unfamiliar  with  the  name,  could  not  quite 
catch  it.  Two  or  three  times  we  repeated  the  question 
with  the  same  result.  Finally  I  managed  to  get  the 
words : 

"Used  to  be  bartender  at  Fort  George  !" 

When  I  imparted  this  information  to  my  steersman^ 
he  at  once  understood  that  it  w^as  a  certain  crippled 
little  French  Canadian  who  had  recently  ceased  dispens- 
ing liquids  over  the  bar  and  had  come  up  to  this  region 
with  his  wife  to  trap. 

^  At  half-past  nine,  having  already  made  twenty  miles 
that  morning,  we  came  in  sight  at  last  of  the  famous 
Peace  River  Canyon.  The  stream  is  swifter  than  usual 
far  above  the  entrance  to  the  gorge,  and  though  one 
hears  much  talk  of  the  danger  of  being  carried  down, 
only  a  drunken  man  or  a  half-witted  fool  would  ever 
disregard  the  abundant  warnings  the  stream  gives  of 
danger.  There  were  two  or  three  canoes  and  boats,  one 
of  them  old  and  rotten,  on  the  beach  or  on  the  bank 
above,  and  Jim  Beattie,  who  has  charge  of  the  portage, 
has  a  good  cabin  and  a  stable  here.  No  one  occupies 
the  place  permanently,  however,  and  the  traveler  who 
reaches  this  end  of  the  portage  must  walk  overland  four- 
teen  miles   to   Hudson's   Hope   in   order   to   procure   a 


The  extraxck  to  Peace  River  Canyon. 


Bea\ei;  tipi.i     \t  IIidsox'-'   IlmM. 


THE   iVilLiillV    i'LACE   RIVER  265 

wagon.  Across  the  river  from  the  head  of  the  portage 
there  is  a  coal  exposure,  into  which  some  one  has  dug  a 
short  shaft. 

I  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  reach  the  Hope  that 
day,  for  I  expected  mail  there  from  the  outside,  so  I 
planned  to  leave  Joe  in  charge  of  the  outfit  and  walk 
over  by  myself.  First,  however,  I  took  my  camera  and 
set  off  down-stream  for  a  look  at  the  head  of  the  canyon. 
From  the  portage  the  distance  is  about  a  mile  along  a 
boulder  beach.  In  old  days  the  portage  began  only  a 
little  distance  above  the  canyon,  and  at  different  times 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  "Twelve-foot"  Davis, 
and  perhaps  other  fur-traders  had  small  posts  here  for 
the  Indian  trade. 

The  river  contracts  greatly  before  entering  between 
the  rock  walls,  and  for  over  twenty  miles  it  is  a  foaming 
torrent  of  turbulent  water,  the  total  descent  in  that 
distance  being  about  243  feet.  So  far  as  known  there 
is  no  very  high  fall,  the  river  flowing  in  a  series  of  rapids 
and  chutes  between  perpendicular  and  often  overhang- 
ing walls  of  sandstone.  No  one  has  ever  explored  the 
whole  of  the  canyon,  and  the  task  would  be  very  diffi- 
cult, though  it  might  possibly  be  done  when  the  stream 
is  frozen,  a  feat  that  Jim  Beattie  tells  me  he  contem- 
plates doing  some  day.  Tradition  says  that  two  par- 
ties— one  composed  of  two  Chinamen,  the  other  headed 
by  a  missionary — ignorantly  attempted  to  run  the  can- 
yon in  years  gone  by.  Of  course,  nothing  more  was 
ever  heard  of  them.  A  British  Columbia  surveyor  a  few 
years   ago  tried   the   experiment  of  sending  through   a 


266    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

very  heavy,  strong  boat,  well  braced.  Only  a  small, 
battered  piece  was  observed  to  float  out  at  the  lower 
end  ! 

The  time  will  probably  come  when  this  canyon  will 
be  harnessed  to  great  turbines.  The  power  that  could 
thus  be  created  would  exceed  that  of  several  Niagaras. 
A  quarter  of  a  century  from  now  the  whole  of  the  can- 
yon may  be  lined  with  great  manufacturing  establish- 
ments. Stranger  things  have  happened.  Would  that  I 
had  all  that  power  within  twenty  miles  of  Chicago  or 
New  York ! 

I  saw  the  canyon  at  a  most  unfavorable  time  to  be 
impressed  by  it.  As  I  have  said  before,  the  summer 
had  been  an  exceedingly  dry  one  on  the  headwaters  of 
Peace  River,  and  the  stream  was  unusually  low.  In 
times  of  high  water  the  river  rises  completely  over  the 
rocks  shown  on  the  right  of  the  illustration.  I  noticed, 
by  the  way,  two  or  three  deep  "pot  holes"  on  these 
rocks. 

I  returned  to  the  canoe  about  eleven  o'clock,  ate  a 
light  lunch,  stuck  a  couple  of  pieces  of  chocolate  and  a 
duck  sandwich  in  my  pocket,  picked  up  my  rifle,  and  set 
out  on  my  fourteen-mile  hike  for  Hudson's  Hope.  We 
had  heard  a  rumor  up  the  river  that  Beattie  was  ex- 
pected to  visit  the  survey  camp,  and  when  I  reached 
the  top  of  the  bench  above  the  river  I  saw  fresh  wagon 
tracks  that  had  come  nearly  to  the  end  of  the  portage 
and  then  had  turned  up-stream  along  a  newly  opened 
trail.  I  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  tracks  must 
have  been  made  by  Beattie,  but  I   knew  that  I  could 


THE   MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  267 

not  catch  up  with  him  and  that  he  would  learn  from 
the  surveyors  of  our  having  come  down  and  would 
return;  as  I  was  extremely  eager  to  get  my  mail  and 
learn  how  things  were  at  home,  I  decided  to  keep  on  to 
the  Hope. 

The  way  first  led  upward  for  many  hundred  feet,  but 
the  trail  was  open  and  dry  and  just  hard  enough  for 
good  walking,  while  I  was  wearing  a  pair  of  light  shoes, 
had  no  pack,  the  poplar  and  jack-pine  woods  along  the 
way  were  delightfully  open,  the  weather  was  fine,  and 
I  found  the  walk  a  real  pleasure.  As  I  hurried  along,  I 
had  a  consciousness  that  I  was  following  a  historic  high- 
way. For  a  century  this  has  been  the  path  followed  by 
Indians  and  trappers  on  their  way  to  and  from  the 
mountains.  Mackenzie  had  trodden  it,  and  McLeod 
and  Finlay  and  Butler  and  Pike  and  other  celebrities 
whose  names  are  associated  with  the  "great  lone  land" 
of  the  far  north.  To  the  left  rose  a  high  rocky  hill  that 
earlier  travelers,  familiar  with  buffalo,  called  "the 
Bull's  Head,"  and  the  resemblance  was  easy  to  be  seen. 
On  some  later  maps  the  name  is  given  to  a  mountain 
across  the  Peace,  but  this  is  due  to  a  surveyor's  mistake. 

After  walking  for  two  hours  I  came  to  a  little  creek, 
the  first  water  I  had  seen,  and  stopped  a  few  minutes 
to  drink  and  to  eat  my  duck  sandwich  and  chocolate. 
On  the  shore  of  this  creek  I  saw  a  track  which  I  first 
thought  had  been  made  by  a  bear,  but  closer  inspection 
showed  that  it  was  the  footprint  of  a  big  timber-wolf. 
Evidently  the  country  was  not  yet  so  very  much  civi- 
lized, after  all. 


268    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

During  the  fourth  hour  I  walked  a  long  distance 
through  stretches  of  tall,  slender  poplars  that  had  been 
killed  by  fire  a  few  years  before.  There  had  been  a 
heavy  wind  the  night  before,  and  scores  of  the  poplars 
had  fallen  across  the  trail.  People  travelling  along  the 
portage  with  horses  or  wagons  carry  axes  with  which 
to  clear  such  windfalls  out  of  the  way. 

Finally  the  trail  ran  out  upon  the  edge  of  a  bluff 
whence,  far  below  me,  I  could  descry  the  deep  gorge  of 
the  Peace  once  more,  and  the  dozen  or  so  cabins  that  I 
knew  must  constitute  the  famous  settlement  of  Hud- 
son's Hope.  Before  one  of  the  most  considerable  of 
these  structures  rose  the  inevitable  flagpole  that  marks 
a  Hudson's  Bay  post. 

It  did  not  take  me  long  to  reach  the  settlement  and 
to  claim  my  mail  at  the  post-office,  which  I  found  was 
located  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  store.  Then  from  the  gov- 
ernment telegraph-operator,  Mr.  Ralph  M.  Osborne,  I 
learned  that  I  had  read  the  signs  rightly  and  that  Beattie 
had  gone  up  the  river.  Osborne  directed  me  to  hunt 
up  a  Mr.  MacEwan,  who  has  a  place  next  to  Beattie's 
and  in  his  absence  looks  after  Beattie's  interests,  and 
by  him  I  was  told  that  there  were  no  other  horses  avail- 
able to  haul  over  our  stuff.  Osborne  and  MacEwan 
were  confident  that  Beattie  would  hear  of  our  arrival 
and  would  return,  so  I  decided  to  remain  at  the  Hope 
until  this  happened.  MacEwan,  who  knew  that  Jim 
was  expecting  me,  gave  me  the  key  to  Jim's  cabin,  and, 
as  I  had  known  the  owner  years  before,  I  had  no  hesita- 
tion about  making  myself  at  home. 


THE   MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  269 

Beattie's  and  MacEwan's  cabins  stand  upon  the 
edge  of  the  bluff  overlooking  the  Peace  and  command  a 
noble  prospect  of  water,  valley,  and  hills.  The  valley, 
or  rather  gorge,  of  the  Peace  is  here  several  hundred 
feet  in  depth.  A  little  way  down  the  hill  from  the  cabins 
a  splendid  spring  bubbles  out  and  furnishes  an  abun- 
dant supply  of  the  finest  water.  On  a  flat  across  the 
river  and  some  distance  farther  down-stream  lies  the 
old  site  of  Hudson's  Hope,  and  it  is  worth  remarking 
that  on  most  maps  the  post  is  still  placed  on  the  south 
side  of  the  Peace. 

Both  MacEwan  and  Osborne  are  Americans.  The 
former  was  for  years  a  miner  in  the  Western  States,  and 
he  enjoys  the  distinction  of  having  resided  longer  at 
the  Hope  than  any  other  white  inhabitant,  though  he 
had  been  there  only  five  years.  Osborne  is  a  native,  as 
I  recall  it,  of  Montana.  He  is  a  young  man,  still  in  his 
twenties,  but  he  started  out  early,  was  for  several  years 
a  cowman,  then  drifted  northward  into  Canada;  lived 
for  a  time  at  Peace  River  Crossing,  where  he  managed 
to  make  a  stake  in  real  estate,  and  now  for  a  bit  has 
been  working  as  telegraph-operator  at  this  distant  set- 
tlement. He  was  good  enough  to  invite  me  to  eat  with 
liim  until  Beattle  arrived,  and  I  revelled  in  real  milk 
and  cream,  garden-stuff',  and  other  delicacies. 

By  noon  next  day  I  knew  most  of  the  prominent 
citizens  of  the  Hope,  had  seen  the  three  belles  of  the 
settlement — daughters  of  a  French-Canadian  pre-emp- 
tioner;  in  fact,  was  beginning  to  feel  like  an  old-time 
resident.     These  girls,  by  the  way,  were  the  first  white 


270    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

women  that  I  had  beheld  since  leaving  Hansard,  for 
though  there  is  a  white  woman  at  McLeod,  I  did  not 
happen  to  see  her.  The  winter  before  there  had  been 
two  white  women  at  the  Forks,  but  the  loneHness  had 
proved  too  much  for  them.  The  Hope  was  much  elated 
over  the  fact  that  a  day  or  two  before  my  arrival  a  tiny 
white  stranger  had  come  to  town,  the  mother  of  it  being 
a  Mrs.  Bodiger,  one  of  the  women  who  had  spent  the 
preceding  winter  at  the  Forks. 

Like  practically  every  other  place  in  Canada,  Hud- 
son's Hope  has  had  its  real-estate  boom,  but  things  were 
now  properly  described  as  "very  quiet."  I  believe  that 
the  boom  did  not  reach  the  stage  of  platting  land  into 
town  lots,  but  several  men  came  thither  to  file  on  land 
in  anticipation  of  realizing  big  returns.  Hard  times  in 
the  Dominion  had  caused  some  of  the  settlers  to  become 
discouraged,  and  the  population  at  the  Hope  was  smaller 
than  it  had  been  two  or  three  years  before. 

From  what  I  heard  it  appeared  that  about  half  the 
residents  had  just  departed  by  way  of  the  Crossing  and 
Edmonton  for  Kamloops — I  think  that  was  the  town; 
at  least  the  round  trip  was  about  two  thousand  miles — 
to  testify  at  the  trial  of  a  fellow  citizen  who  was  accused 
of  rape.  I  had  heard  echoes  of  this  case  ever  since 
reaching  Prince  George,  and  as  the  affair  had  peculiar 
complications  and  the  man  was  widely  known,  the 
population  of  the  Peace  River  country  seemed  much 
divided  over  it.  Among  those  who  had  gone  out  to 
the  trial  as  a  witness  was  "The  Sandbar  Queen,"  who 
after  a  lurid  career  along  the  Fraser  had  transferred  her 


THE   MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  271 

activities  to  Peace  River  and  the  Hope,  where  she  had 
become  the  proprietress  of  a  shack  bearing  the  sign 
"restaurant."  Being  a  lady  with  a  trace  of  "color," 
she  occupied  her  spare  time  in  doing  washing  for  the 
bachelors  of  the  burg. 

Another  character  of  the  region  whom  I  did  not 
have  the  good  luck  to  meet  was  a  certain  "Skookum" 
Black,  though  Black  is  not  his  real  name. 

"There  are  three  liars  in  British  Columbia,"  said  one 
of  my  acquaintances  at  the  Hope.  "One  of  them  is  a 
certain  man  at  Fort  St.  John,  and  the  other  two  are 
Skookum  Black  of  Moberly  Lake.  Skookum  a  few 
years  ago  met  a  lady  who  was  travelling  in  the  Macken- 
zie-Peace country,  getting  material  for  a  book  she  later 
published,  and  he  told  her  some  wild  yarns  about  the 
region  and  its  citizens.  One  thing  she  wrote  down  on 
his  say-so  was  that  forty  miles  is  considered  a  fair  day 
by  Peace  River  trappers.  Now  I  once  passed  three  of 
Skookum's  night  camps  in  half  a  day,  so  it  must  be  that 
he  was  speaking  of  the  travelling  powers  of  other  trap- 
pers than  himself." 

At  noon  of  the  day  after  my  own  arrival  at  the 
Hope  I  was  rejoiced  to  see  Joe  and  Beattie  driving  in 
with  the  canoe  and  the  rest  of  the  outfit.  It  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  shake  Beattie  by  the  hand,  for  six  years 
before  I  had  ridden  for  a  couple  of  days  with  him  on 
the  Embarras  trail  southwest  of  Edson,  and  I  had  cor- 
responded with  him  since.  He  is  an  Englishman  by 
birth,  but  he  came  out  to  Saskatchewan  as  a  boy,  and 
when  I  met  him  before  he  was  working  as  a  professional 


272    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

hunter  for  the  Pacific  Pass  Coal  Company.  He  had  had 
some  remarkable  experiences  the  previous  spring  catch- 
ing wild  horses  in  the  Yellovvhead  Pass  region,  and  was 
then  riding  a  black  outlaw  stalHon  that  he  had  roped. 
Later  he  trapped  in  the  Thompson  River  country  with 
another  friend  of  mine,  Adolf  Anderson,  then  caught 
the  gold  fever  and  went  to  the  Omineca  country  with 
Angus  Sherwood,  the  Teare  brothers,  and  several  more, 
lost  much  money  and  found  no  dust,  so  settled  down  at 
the  Hope  to  tend  portage. 

After  shaking  hands  with  Jim  I  made  another  valued 
acquaintance  in  the  person  of  his  little  black  terrier,  Nig. 
Nig  is  one  of  those  splendid  doggy  little  dogs  who  make 
friends  with  every  one  and  likes  to  spring  up  into  your 
lap  for  a  quiet  nap.  Although  he  weighs  only  eleven 
pounds,  the  bears  have  to  look  out  when  he  is  around; 
last  spring  he  cornered  a  big  black  fellow  and  kept  him 
busy  until  Beattie  got  in  a  death  shot.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  two  of  these  little  dogs  make  an  ideal  com- 
bination for  hunting  bears.  While  bruin  is  chasing  one, 
the  other  springs  in,  gives  a  nip,  dodges  away,  and  keeps 
the  bear's  attention  until  the  other  dog  can  repeat  the 
performance. 

One  heard  remarkable  stories  of  the  number  of  bears 
that  are  killed  by  the  Indians.  Listening  to  such  stories, 
one  is  likely  to  form  an  altogether  erroneous  notion 
about  the  number  of  bears,  and  particularly  of  grizzlies. 
In  reality,  seeing  and  killing  a  grizzly  in  any  country  is 
largely  a  matter  of  chance.  A  man  may  go  out  for  a 
short  hunt  or  he  may  simply  be  travelling  with  no  in- 


THE  MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  273 

tention  of  hunting,  and  be  lucky— or  unlucky— enough 
to  see  several  of  these  animals.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
may  live  in  the  country  for  years  and  have  no  luck. 
Jim  Beattie  has  been  hunting  and  trapping  in  the  Cana- 
dian Rockies  for  ten  or  a  dozen  years,  and  has  killed 
many  bears,  but  not  a  single  silvertip.  A  squavvman 
named  Gregory — from  Pendleton,  Indiana,  originally — 
has  been  trapping  along  the  Peace  for  five  years  and  has 
never  even  seen  one.  Neither  has  Brady,  a  trapper  and 
trader  who  has  a  place  away  up  on  the  wilds  of  Halfway 
River. 

Each  year,  however,  a  few  grizzly  hides  are  brought 
into  Hudson's  Hope.  Osborne  has  a  fine,  large  skin, 
with  splendid  claws,  which  he  bought  of  an  Indian  for 
five  dollars !  Last  spring  Beattie  bought  a  perfectly 
enormous  skin  from  another  Indian,  and  I  saw  it  in  the 
Hudson's  Bay  store.  Unfortunately  the  claws  were 
not  kept  on,  and  this  greatly  detracts  from  the  value 
and  interest.  It  is  very  diflficult  to  get  the  Indians  to 
leave  the  claws  on  a  skin,  and  it  is  said  that  the  reason 
is  their  fondness  for  bear  paws  and  bear-paw  soup  ! 

These  Indians  are  of  the  Beaver  tribe,  and  nearly 
every  account,  from  that  of  the  earliest  explorers  down 
to  the  present  day,  makes  them  out  a  low-down,  de- 
graded set.  They  are  blear-eyed,  polygamous,  inces- 
tuous, rotten  with  tuberculosis,  scrofula,  and  syphilis, 
and  are  fast  dying  out.  I  saw  only  one  man  of  the 
whole  lot  who  looked  healthy,  and  he  was  a  mere  boy 
who  had  been  working  with  a  pack-train  for  Hudson's 
Bay.     This  fellow  came  to  Beattie's  cabin  one  evening. 


274    ON    THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

Now  few  of  these  Indians,  despite  their  long  association 
with  white  traders,  can  speak  EngHsh  at  all  well,  and 
they  have  a  most  confusing  habit,  when  questioned,  of 
saying,  "Yes,  no.  Yes,  no."  I  asked  this  young  In- 
dian a  number  of  questions,  and  almost  invariably  he 
responded,  "Yes,  no."  Finally  I  said  to  him: 
"You  kill  game  last  winter?'* 

This  he  understood,  for  he  replied:  "One  leetle 
moose." 

The  Beavers,  like  the  Sikannis  up  the  Finlay,  are 
meat-eaters,  but  though  they  often  go  hungry,  they  have 
no  idea  of  "conservation."  They  will  kill  game  as 
long  as  they  have  a  chance.  Some  time  ago  a  bunch 
of  them  located  a  lot  of  caribou  somewhere  in  the  Mo- 
berly  Lake  country.  They  killed  and  killed  until  their 
cartridges  gave  out;  then,  though  they  had  no  use  for 
half  the  animals  already  slain,  they  sent  to  the  Hope 
after  more  ammunition  ! 

In  the  old  days  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  em- 
ployed the  squaws  to  pack  goods  across  the  portage. 
It  is  said — probably  with  some  exaggeration — that  a 
squaw  would  pick  up  a  hundred-pound  pack  and  march 
the  whole  fourteen  miles  without  once  setting  it  down. 
They  are  still  used  as  beasts  of  burden  by  their  male 
lords  and  masters.  I  saw  one  band  come  into  the  Hope 
from  a  trip  in  the  bush.  Dashing  ahead  on  ponies  came 
several  bucks  of  various  ages  carrying  nothing  except 
their  rifles;  behind  plodded  a  long  line  of  squaws  bent 
under  heavy  burdens. 

Once   in   a  while  there   is   a  squaw  who  has   spunk 


THE   MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  275 

enough  to  reverse  the  matter  of  lordship.  I  heard  of 
one,  a  big,  fat,  "militant"  two-hundred-poundcr,  whose 
husband  was  a  weazened  little  buck  about  half  her  size. 
For  years  she  had  bossed  the  teepee,  and  his  life  was 
not  a  pleasant  one,  for  when  he  became  restive  under 
her  dominion,  she  proceeded  to  "beat  up  on  him"  in 
most  approved  fashion.  A  winter  or  so  before,  while  the 
pair  were  plodding  along  a  snowy  trail  on  snowshoes, 
he  rose  in  revolt,  was  lucky  enough  to  knock  her  into  a 
drift  by  a  lucky  blow  with  a  club,  and  then  proceeded 
to  belabor  her  on  the  head  until  he  thought  he  had  fin- 
ished her.  When  he  reached  the  camp  of  some  other 
Indians  a  few  miles  farther  on,  he  swelled  up  with  pride 
and  announced: 

"Me  kill  squaw." 

The  statement  aroused  more  curiosity  than  indig- 
nation. Later  some  of  the  Indians  happened  to  pass 
that  way  and  discovered  that  the  squaw,  not  quite  so 
dead  as  her  mate  supposed,  was  sitting  up  In  the  snow, 
and  ultimately  she  managed  to  drag  herself  into  camp. 
But  the  days  of  her  proud  pre-eminence  were  past  for- 
ever. Since  then  she  has  carried  the  pack  like  the  rest 
of  her  sisters. 

The  Beavers  are  very  averse  to  having  their  pictures 
taken,  having  got  the  notion  that  it  is  liable  to  bring 
death  or  bad  luck.  Osborne  and  I  strolled  out  one 
afternoon  through  a  jack-pine  grove  where  a  number  of 
families  were  encamped,  but  whenever  I  trained  the 
camera  in  the  direction  of  a  group  they  dived  into  their 
tepees  like  prairie-dogs  into  their  holes. 


276    ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  PEACE   RIVER 

On  a  high  hill  above  the  Hope  the  Indians  have  a 
pole  that  bears  a  gayly  painted  carving  of  a  bird  that 
would  seem  to  be  a  sort  of  hybrid  between  a  grouse  and 
a  rooster. 

"What  is  that  ?"  I  asked  Osborne  as  we  were  return- 
ing from  the  village. 

"The  Indians  claim  that  whenever  a  stranger  ap- 
proaches the  village  this  bird  utters  a  cry  that  gives 
them  warning,"  he  replied. 

Like  the  music  of  the  spheres,  the  bird's  cry  evidently 
can  be  heard  only  by  certain  gifted  ears,  to  wit,  those 
of  the  Siwash. 

A  few  trappers  in  the  country  have  married  Beaver 
squaws.  One  such  trapper  that  I  met  had  formerly 
been  an  American  soldier  in  the  Philippines.  His  first 
venture  into  Indian  matrimony  had  not  turned  out  well, 
for  his  squaw  had  eloped  with  an  Indian.  The  white 
man  had  then  taken  another  chance  in  the  matrimonial 
lottery,  and  rumor  ran  that  the  same  Indian  was  now 
making  overtures — some  said  with  success — to  squaw 
number  two.  This  gay  red  Lothario  was  hardly  beau- 
tiful; he  had  scrofula  so  badly  that  the  white  men  said 
that  his  head  would  fall  off  if  he  were  to  remove  the  rag 
he  kept  tied  round  his  neck;  but  he  seemed  to  have  a 
winning  way  with  the  ladies.  He  defended  his  efforts 
to  steal  wife  number  two  by  declaring  that  she  really 
belonged  to  him,  as  he  had  bought  a  calico  dress  for  her 
before  she  was  married. 

At  Hudson's  Hope  and  other  places  along  my  route 
I  found  the  bachelors  talking  and  joking  a  great  deal 


THE  MIGHTY  PEACE   RIVER  277 

about  "war  widows."  One  jolly  old  trapper  ventured 
the  opinion  that  even  as  ugly  a  man  as  he  ought  to  be 
able  to  get  a  wife  now.  I  presume  that  a  good  many 
English  women  who  have  lost  their  mates  or  prospective 
mates  will  go  to  Canada  in  the  next  few  years;  perhaps 
even  some  of  them  will  be  sent  there,  as  single  women 
were  sent  out  to  Jamestown  in  Colonial  times.  What 
adjustments  in  methods  of  living  a  London  lass  trans- 
ferred to  the  banks  of  Peace  River  would  have  to  make ! 

I  do  not  wonder  at  the  fact  that  now  and  then  a 
trapper  or  prospector  tires  of  domestic  duties  and  longs 
for  a  mate  to  attend  to  them.  When  a  trapper  is  a 
good  cook,  as  many  of  them  are,  it  is  not  so  bad,  but 
those  who  are  not  lead  a  miserable  existence.  One 
hears  amusing  stories  of  the  culinary  expedients  of 
some  of  the  denizens  of  the  region.  A  certain  Scotsman 
has  porridge  three  times  a  day,  while  an  old  Yankee,  of 
cast-iron  stomach,  cooks  hot  cakes  for  every  meal. 

I  had  expected  as  soon  as  Joe  and  the  canoe  arrived 
over  the  portage  to  set  out  for  the  Crossing,  but  Beattie 
was  anxious  to  become  the  owner  of  the  canoe,  while  I 
wished,  if  possible,  to  reach  the  Crossing  the  following 
Tuesday,  the  date  one  of  the  semiweekly  trains  would 
leave  for  Edmonton.  A  big  gasolene-boat  was  on  its 
way  up  the  river,  and  it  was  represented  to  me  that  this 
boat  would  be  sure  to  get  me  to  the  Crossing  in  time  for 
the  train.  As  we  had  now  reached  the  telegraph-line 
and  civilization,  I  regarded  my  trip  as  practically  over, 
and  saw  no  reason  for  making  the  monotonous  trip 
down  the  Peace  by  canoe.     Therefore  I  sold  Jim  the 


278    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

canoe  and  settled  down  at  his  cabin  to  wait  for  the 
boat. 

It  was  with  real  regret  that  I  parted  from  the  little 
craft.  She  had  served  us  well,  and  was  a  credit  to  her 
builders.  Only  once  had  she  sprung  a  leak  and  that  a 
tiny  one,  due  to  rough  usage  in  hauling  her  over  some 
jagged  rocks  above  Deserter's  Canyon;  a  little  pitch  had 
remedied  it.  Some  of  the  paint  was  scraped  off  her  bot- 
tom, but  her  timbers  were  sound  and  stanch,  and  a 
coat  of  varnish  would  make  her  as  good  as  new. 

As  the  boat  did  not  arrive  for  two  days,  I  had  time 
to  visit  with  Beattie  and  to  learn  more  about  the  Hope. 
One  afternoon  Osborne  and  I  rode  out  on  horseback  to 
what  is  known  as  "The  Flat,"  where  a  number  of  home- 
steaders have  located,  though  few  are  now  living  there. 
The  land  of  this  section  of  British  Columbia — a  great 
mass  of  3,500,000  acres  known  as  "the  Peace  River 
Block" — is  still  controlled  by  the  Dominion  government, 
and  the  word  "homestead"  is  used  here  instead  of 
"pre-emption,"  as  in  the  rest  of  the  Province. 

In  this  and  practically  every  other  section  of  Peace 
River,  as  well  as  much  farther  south,  potatoes  had  been 
badly  injured,  and  oats  and  wheat  totally  ruined,  except 
for  the  straw,  by  a  heavy  August  frost.  I  saw  heads  of 
wheat  that  from  a  distance  looked  well,  yet  that  con- 
tained not  the  sign  of  a  kernel.  I  have  little  doubt 
that  settlers  on  the  high  prairie  will  always  be  more  or 
less  troubled  by  frost.  The  best  land  along  Peace  River 
is  that  which  is  down  in  the  deep  valley  of  the  river. 
This  valley  is  often  seven  or  eight  hundred  feet  below 


THE   MIGHTY   PEACE   RIVER  279 

the  level  of  the  plateau  above,  and  the  warmth  of  the 
water  saves  crops  on  the  river  flats  from  frosts  that  ruin 
crops  on  the  land  above. 

On  the  ride  back,  from  the  high  ground  above  the 
Hope,  we  got  a  superb  view  of  some  of  the  eastern 
Rockies.  From  summit  to  base  they  were  now  covered 
with  a  mantle  of  snow,  and  they  loomed  up  almost  ghost- 
like in  the  clear  evening  air. 

As  I  gazed  a  feeling  of  longing  to  wander  once  more 
among  those  delectable  peaks  filled  my  heart,  and  I 
wondered,  with  a  strange  clutching  at  my  throat,  if  I 
would  ever  see  them  again. 


CHAPTER   XXI 
THE   END  OF  IT 

The  gasolene-boat  reached  Hudson's  Hope  at  ten 
o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  but  it  did  not  set  out  on 
the  return  trip  until  Monday.  To  avoid  the  necessity 
of  early  rising,  most  of  the  half-dozen  passengers,  Lavoie 
and  I  included,  went  aboard  on  Sunday  evening.  The 
boat,  though  big  enough  to  have  a  pilot-house,  was  not 
equipped  to  carry  passengers;  in  fact,  she  transported 
most  of  her  freight  in  a  big  scow  that  was  pushed  ahead 
of  her.  I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  a  mattress,  and  with 
my  own  blankets  made  myself  a  comfortable  bed  down 
in  the  shaft-house,  while  Joe  took  a  job  as  cook  and,  of 
course,  had  the  cook's  bunk. 

The  boat  was  run  by  four  men:  The  captain,  who 
was  an  old  Mississippi  River  man  and  who  showed  much 
interest  when  I  told  him  that  I  had  once  taken  "the  old 
route  to  Dixie";  a  mate,  who  had  worked  for  a  time  on 
the  Yukon;  a  half-breed  pilot,  and  the  engineer.  All 
were  new  at  the  job  of  operating  a  gasolene-boat.  Once 
a  big  blaze  leaped  up  in  the  engine-room,  whereupon 
the  captain  was  about  to  attempt  to  put  it  out  with  a 
bucket  of  water  when  Joe,  who  knew  better,  fortunately 
stopped  him. 

The  river  looked  much  the  same  as  above  the  Can- 
yon, being  from  a  quarter  to  half  a  mile  wide,  with  a 

280 


THE  END  OF  IT  281 

current  of  perhaps  five  miles  an  hour.  There  were  a 
good  many  low  islands,  evidently  formed  by  sand,  gravel, 
and  silt  collecting  behind  log-jams.  It  is  said  that  many 
of  the  bars  show  color  of  gold,  but  too  fine  to  be  remu- 
nerative to  hand-labor,  though  it  is  thought  that  steam- 
dredging  may  some  day  prove  profitable. 

As  we  were  running  past  a  gravel-bar  on  the  north 
shore,  some  of  us  happened  to  notice  a  large  animal, 
brindled  above,  with  blackish  belly  and  legs,  standing 
at  the  water's  edge. 

"Look  at  that  Indian  dog!"  said  some  one  up  in 
the  pilot-house. 

The  creature  did  indeed  resemble  a  dog;  in  reality  it 
was  not  a  dog  at  all,  but  a  black  wolf  {Canis  griseus)  and 
a  big  one.  I  had  noticed  many  tracks  of  this  animal  in 
the  course  of  the  trip,  but  this  was  the  first  time  I  had 
actually  seen  the  beast  itself.  It  seemed  strange  that 
when  I  did  so  it  should  be  from  the  deck  of  a  noisy  river- 
boat  !  Although  the  wolf  was  hardly  more  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  away,  he  watched  us  quite  casually,  and 
only  after  we  were  past  did  he  turn  and  trot  back  into 
the  bush.  If  I  had  had  my  rifle  ready  I  could  have 
made  the  occasion  pretty  interesting  for  the  beast,  but 
I  was  expecting  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  the  weapon 
was  quietly  reposing  in  its  case. 

Our  sight  of  this  animal  tended  to  confirm  word 
brought  into  the  Hope  by  the  Indians  that  the  wolves 
were  moving  down  from  the  Nelson  River  country,  the 
explanation  being  that  the  "rabbits" — that  is  the 
northern  varying  hares  {Lepus  americaniis  macfarlani) — 


282    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

were  nearly  all  dead.  Of  the  latter  fact  there  was  no 
doubt.  Prairie-chickens,  only  a  year  or  two  before  ex- 
tremely plentiful,  were  also  said  to  be  very  scarce.  The 
rabbits  had  become  infected  with  a  strange  disease  which 
about  every  seven  years  sweeps  them  off  in  multitudes. 
Just  what  this  disease  is  naturalists  are  not  agreed. 
Roderick  MacFarlane,  long  a  chief  factor  of  the  Great 
Company  and  a  close  student  of  natural  history,  asserts 
that  it  is  an  affection  of  the  head  and  throat.  Whatever 
it  is,  it  would  seem  to  be  a  provision  of  nature  designed 
to  prevent  the  rabbits  from  simply  overrunning  the 
country,  for  they  multiply  so  rapidly  that,  if  not  checked 
in  some  way,  they  would  soon  not  have  standing-room. 
Scarcity  of  rabbits  is  a  serious  matter  to  the  people  who 
inhabit  these  northern  regions.  The  Indians  largely 
depend  on  rabbits  snared  by  the  squaws  and  children 
to  get  them  through  periods  of  scarcity  of  "big  meat," 
and  not  infrequently  white  trappers  also  are  reduced  to 
catching  and  eating  the  humble  bunnies.  Furthermore, 
several  animals,  including  the  lynx,  marten,  coyote,  and 
wolf,  live  mostly  or  in  part  on  rabbits.  When  the  rab- 
bit crop  is  short  the  lynx  and  marten  crops  are  short, 
also;  many  lynx,  in  fact,  starve  to  death  in  such  times. 
The  big  wolves  also  hunt  much  larger  game.  They 
hang  around  caribou  herds  and  take  toll  of  calves,  young 
animals,  the  sick  and  crippled,  and  now  and  then  of  the 
sound  and  strong.  Deer,  mountain-sheep,  mountain- 
goats,  and  even  moose  fall  prey  to  them.  MacFarlane^ 
relates  that  once  while  travelling  on  the  ice  between 
Forts  Liard  and  Nelson  his  party  came  upon  a  patch  of 


THE   END  OF   IT  283 

hard-packed  bloody  snow  where  a  pack  of  wolves  had 
set  upon  and  pulled  down  a  big  bull  moose  and  had 
eaten  everything  except  the  larger  bones.  The  bull 
had  evidently  fought  hard  for  his  life,  for  near  by  they 
found  and  killed  a  wolf  that  had  one  of  its  hind  legs 
shattered. 

The  people  of  the  Peace  River  country  lose  many 
horses  and  cows  in  winter  through  the  depredations  of 
wolves.  Around  St.  John  a  few  winters  before  about 
two  hundred  horses  were  so  destroyed.  If  the  Indian 
reports  of  wolves  coming  down  from  the  north  were  true, 
then  the  winter  of  1916-17  doubtless  proved  a  bad  one 
for  stock  owners. 

If  wolves  multiplied  without  checks  of  any  kind,  they 
would  soon  overrun  the  country,  for  they  are  so  crafty 
that  it  is  difficult  to  kill  them  except  by  poisoning. 
Luckily,  they  are  subject  to  several  fatal  diseases:  mange 
kills  many,  and  the  beasts  are  also  attacked  by  a  strange 
distemper  that  now  and  then  sweeps  away  some  of  the 
Eskimo  and  Indian  dogs.  Occasionally  a  wolf  goes  mad 
and  becomes  a  peril  not  only  to  the  rest  of  the  pack  but 
to  man  as  well.  Except  when  mad  or  ravenous  with 
hunger,  wolves  are  careful  to  avoid  men. 

Some  distance  below  Fort  St.  John,  a  trading-post 
that  seemingly  contained  a  smaller  white  population 
than  the  Hope,  we  took  aboard  a  party  of  sixteen  Do- 
minion surveyors  who  were  going  out  for  the  wmter. 
As  the  boat  was  too  small  to  accommodate  them,  they 
took  up  their  quarters  on  the  scow  and  cooked  their 
meals  on  a  stove  they  brought  along.     They  had  come 


284    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

in  early  in  the  spring  before  the  ice  broke  up  and  seemed 
very  happy  to  be  on  their  way  to  the  Grand  Pays. 
They  had  been  gathered  from  all  over  Canada  and  even 
from  overseas.  The  head  surveyor  was  a  French  Cana- 
dian from  Ottawa.  One  of  his  assistants,  Norlander  by 
name,  was  a  young  Swedish  engineer  who  had  been  one 
of  the  tennis  referees  at  the  Olympic  games  in  Stockholm. 

Another  member  of  the  party  was  Sandy  Turner, 
one  of  the  men  who  accompanied  Hanbury  on  his  trip 
to  the  Barren  Grounds,  the  Arctic  coast,  and  the  Cop- 
permine. Hanbury's  book  is  one  of  the  classics  of 
northern  travel,  and  in  it  he  presents  in  a  simple  yet 
most  fascinating  way  the  story  of  what  was  truly  an 
extraordinary  journey,  during  most  of  which  he  and 
his  companions  lived  almost  wholly  on  caribou,  seals, 
and  musk-oxen,  being  without  even  tea  a  large  part  of 
the  time.  Stefansson  says  of  the  book  that  it  gave  him 
more  suggestions  about  methods  of  travel  than  all  others 
put  together;  in  fact,  it  was  Hanbury  who  first  demon- 
strated the  possibility  of  living  and  travelling  with  the 
Eskimo  without  taking  along  a  commissariat,  a  plan  that 
Stefansson  has  followed  with  such  remarkable  success. 
Turner  told  me  that  when  Harry  Radford  was  preparing 
to  go  north  he  asked  Turner  to  accompany  him,  but 
they  were  unable  to  come  to  terms;  had  Turner  gone 
Radford  probably  would  not  have  become  involved  in 
the  trouble  that  led  to  his  murder,  for  Turner  is  a  man 
of  much  good  sense  and  would  have  known  how  to  deal 
with  the  natives. 

After  seeing  the  wolf  I  put  my  rifle  together  and  for 


THE  END  OF  IT  285 

hours,  despite  a  bitter  cold  wind,  kept  watch  on  the 
shores  without  seeing  any  other  game.  Shortly  before 
nightfall  we  passed  out  of  British  Columbia  into  Alberta 
and,  as  my  hunting  license  extended  no  farther,  I  de- 
cided that  it  was  a  good  time  to  try  to  get  warm.  Ac- 
cordingly I  climbed  down  into  the  shaft-house  and  crept 
under  my  blankets.  I  had  been  there  only  a  few  min- 
utes when  I  heard  a  terrific  noise  I  could  not  identify, 
though  it  sounded  more  like  tearing  an  enormous  piece 
of  cloth  than  anything  else  I  could  think  of.  As  the 
boat  stopped  and  seemed  to  be  turning  in  toward  the 
bank,  I  decided  that  perhaps  we  had  struck  a  snag,  so 
I  hustled  out  on  deck,  and  was  astonished  to  learn  that 
the  crew  had  been  shooting  at  some  moose  and  had 
killed  one !  Sure  enough,  when  we  made  the  bank, 
there  on  the  beach  lay  a  big  bull. 

From  the  stories  of  those  who  had  seen  the  perform- 
ance and  from  my  own  observations  along  the  beach,  I 
gathered  that  what  had  happened  was  about  as  follows: 
The  surveyors  in  the  scow  had  noticed  four  moose,  a 
bull,  a  cow,  and  two  calves,  running  along  the  beach  well 
ahead  of  the  boat,  and  had  called  back  the  news  to  the 
crew.  The  mate  at  once  seized  a  .30-30  Winchester, 
and  the  engineer  his  .401  automatic,  and  the  two  began 
blazing  away  at  the  bull,  which  was  about  two  hundred 
yards  off.  Both  men  emptied  their  magazines  and  pres- 
ently the  bull  fell  dead.  The  others  ran  on  up  the 
beach,  hung  round  for  a  bit,  and  then  took  to  the  tim- 
ber, which  all  could  easily  have  done  when  the  boat  first 
came  in  sight.     When  the  dead  animal  was  skinned,  it 


286    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

was  discovered  that  only  two  out  of  over  a  dozen  bullets 
had  struck  him.  One  had  gone  through  his  tongue 
without  touching  the  lips  or  jaws  on  either  side.  The 
other  had  hit  him  just  back  of  the  short  ribs  and  had 
ranged  forward  through  the  lungs. 

The  boat  was  tied  up  for  the  night,  a  fire  was  built, 
and  by  its  lurid  light  the  cook  of  the  surveying-party, 
with  the  help  of  others,  began  the  bloody  task  of  skin- 
ning the  big  beast  and  cutting  up  the  meat.  As  the 
"running  season"  was  at  hand,  some  of  us  doubted 
whether  the  meat  would  be  edible  or  not,  but  when  we 
tried  it  next  day  we  found  it  not  bad,  though  a  bit 
tough.  As  the  surveying-party  had  been  without  fresh 
meat  practically  all  summer,  they  consumed  great  quan- 
tities of  it.  Moose  meat,  by  the  way,  looks  and  tastes 
a  good  deal  like  beef.  Those  who  know  say  that  one 
can  endure  eating  it  for  a  longer  period  than  is  the  case 
with  venison  and  most  other  game  meats. 

The  bull  was  an  old  animal,  above  the  average  in 
size,  yet  the  antlers,  according  to  my  tape,  measured 
only  49>^  inches  spread.  They  were,  however,  consid- 
ered large  for  Peace  River  moose.  In  the  course  of  the 
trip  I  had  seen  the  heads  of  several  moose  that  had  been 
shot,  also  many  shed  horns,  but  this  was  the  largest  set 
I  had  seen.  The  surveyor,  who  had  been  working  in 
the  country  for  years,  said  the  same. 

The  horns  were  pretty  massive,  but  they  had  not 
grown  symmetrically,  and  the  end  of  one  of  the  smaller 
tines  had  been  broken  off  in  some  way.  The  head  and 
neck  were  big  and  striking,  as  was  the  bell,  though  it 


THE  END  OF   IT  287 

was  rather  large  than  long.  Ahogether  the  trophy  was 
an  impressive  one,  and,  as  the  engineer  and  mate  waived 
their  claims  to  it,  the  surveyor  decided  to  take  it  hack 
east  with  him.  This  was  a  rather  tickhsh  task,  as  the 
slayers  of  the  beast  had  no  license,  and  there  are  certain 
formalities  connected  with  shipping  out  a  head.  The 
Alberta  law  provides  that  travelers  in  these  northern 
regions  may  kill  game  for  food,  but  seems  to  say  nothing 
regarding  what  may  be  done  with  the  heads  of  such 
game.  When  the  boat  reached  Peace  River  Crossing, 
the  surveyor  took  the  case  to  the  local  game-warden, 
but  he  was  unable  to  throw  any  light  on  the  matter,  so 
the  head  was  finally  crated  in  a  big  box,  a  label  reading, 
*' Glass,  handle  with  care,"  was  affixed,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  in  due  course  the  head  safely  arrived  in 
Ottawa. 

The  case  exemplifies  the  confusion  regarding  game- 
laws  and  the  disregard  of  them  in  both  Alberta  and 
British  Columbia.  Game  of  all  kinds  is  killed  whenever 
seen  throughout  the  season;  outsiders  with  "prospectors' 
licenses"  stretch  the  permission  therein  contained  to 
kill  for  food  into  permission  to  shoot  indiscriminately, 
and  no  one  seems  inclined  to  want  to  see  the  laws  en- 
forced. 

A  couple  of  hours  after  we  started  next  morning  we 
saw  far  ahead  on  an  immense  gravel-bar  a  young  bull 
moose,  while  some  distance  away  a  small  gasolene-boat 
containing  two  men  had  made  a  landing  on  the  beach. 
Seeing  our  boat,  the  moose  ran  back  some  distance  from 
the  river  and  then  stupidly  stood  staring  while  one  of 


288    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

the  men  on  shore  made  his  way  in  plain  sight  toward 
him.  At  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  the  hunter  fired 
several  shots,  whereupon  the  bull  moved  off.  By  that 
time  we  were  at  a  great  distance,  and  the  men  in  the 
pilot-house  insisted  that  the  moose  got  behind  a  bank 
and  escaped;  but  to  me,  watching  the  scene  through  my 
glasses,  it  seemed  that  the  animal  sank  down  on  the  bar. 

The  behavior  of  this  moose  and  of  those  seen  the 
previous  evening  illustrates  well  an  almost  inexplicable 
paradox  in  moose  nature.  At  times  these  animals  are 
timid  and  crafty  to  the  last  degree;  at  others  they  be- 
have like  perfect  lunatics. 

Later  in  the  day  we  saw  on  a  high  hill  far  back  from 
the  river  a  big  black  bear,  but  made  no  effort  to  disturb 
him.  In  the  course  of  the  day  we  also  saw  two  coyotes 
and  a  fox.  From  Dunvegan  onward  the  country  is 
more  settled,  and  we  saw  no  more  wild  animals. 

From  the  Canyon  to  Peace  River  Crossing,  a  distance 
of  two  hundred  and  forty  miles,  the  river  flows  in  a 
deep  trough,  with  hills  and  plateaus  rising  on  both  sides, 
the  south  bank  being  still  more  or  less  wooded,  the  north 
bank  largely  prairie.  After  one  has  seen  a  few  miles  of 
the  scenery  he  has,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  seen  all 
of  it,  for  it  is  monotonously  alike. 

Much  difference  of  opinion  still  exists  regarding  the 
possibilities  of  the  country  for  agriculture.  Some  de- 
clare that  it  has  a  great  future  along  this  line,  but  I  met 
others,  long  resident,  who  said  that  it  would  "never  be 
good  for  anything  but  fur."  Both  judgments  are  prob- 
ably too  sweeping.     There   are  doubtless  districts  like 


THE   END  OF    IT  289 

Grande  Prairie  and  the  lower  country  toward  Vermilion, 
where  grain  will  succeed,  while  there  are  other  sections 
that  may  never  be  good  for  much.  The  loss  of  practi- 
cally all  the  grain  this  year  was  most  discouraging.  For 
years  settlers  had  been  waiting  for  the  advent  of  the 
railroad  in  order  to  have  an  outlet  for  their  wheat,  and 
then  the  very  first  year  that  a  railroad  reached  the 
region  and  there  was  a  chance  of  "cashing  in,"  Provi- 
dence stepped  in  with  a  killing  frost. 

I  was  much  surprised  at  the  amount  of  game  seen 
on  this  trip,  for  I  had  been  led  by  government  literature 
and  by  talk  at  the  Hope  to  think  that  the  section 
between  the  Hope  and  Dunvegan  was  becoming  too 
thickly  settled  for  game  to  be  numerous.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  there  are  almost  no  people  along  this  stretch  of 
the  river,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  hunting-party 
could  kill  many  moose  and  bear  simply  by  cruising  up 
and  down  the  stream  at  the  proper  season.  Up  to  a 
few  years  ago  the  river-banks  in  September,  when  the 
service-berries  are  ripe,  were  often  literally  alive  with 
bears;  as  many  as  forty  were  seen  on  a  single  trip  from 
Vermilion  to  the  Canyon.  In  still  earlier  days  great 
herds  of  buffalo  and  elk  were  observed  by  Mackenzie 
and  subsequent  travelers.  Sm.all  herds  of  wild  buffalo 
— "wood  bison" — still  roam  the  wilderness  lying  be- 
tween the  lower  reaches  of  the  Peace  and  the  Liard. 
At  Edmonton  in  1910  I  saw  the  skin  of  a  bull  that  had 
been  killed  in  that  region  by  permission  of  the  Canadian 
government.  It  was  almost  inconceivably  thick  and 
heavy. 


290    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

We  stopped  at  Dunvegan  long  enough  for  the  survey- 
ing-party to  stock  up  on  tobacco.  This  place  had  its 
boom  a  few  years  ago,  and  prospectuses  displayed  at 
Edmonton  and  elsewhere  conveyed  the  impression  that 
it  was  already  a  large  town  with  a  number  of  railroads. 
It  had,  however,  never  heard  the  whistle  of  a  single  iron- 
horse,  and  it  makes  less  of  a  showing  in  the  way  of  build- 
ings than  does  the  Hope,  though  the  country  roundabout 
contains  more  settlers. 

That  this  immense  Peace  River  country,  as  large  as 
some  empires,  will  ultimately  support  a  considerable 
population  I  have  no  doubt.  The  world  is  becoming  so 
crowded  that  the  day  is  drawing  near  when  every  spot 
that  will  grow  potatoes,  turnips,  or  other  products  that 
will  support  life  will  be  occupied.  Some  land  is  more 
desirable  than  others,  but  even  Iceland  and  Greenland 
are  settled,  and  beyond  all  doubt  the  natural  advantages 
of  Peace  River  are  immensely  superior  to  those  of  either 
of  these  hyperborean  islands.  As  wild  lands  are  settled 
they  tend  to  become  less  repellent  and  remote.  The 
Germany  of  Caesar's  day  was  a  cold  country  of  marsh 
and  gloomy  forests,  considered  hardly  suitable  for  human 
habitation,  yet  Germany  is  to-day  more  thickly  inhabited 
than  "Sunny  Italy."  Part  of  Germany  is  farther  north 
than  is  the  Peace  River  country,  but  it  is  not  so  cold. 
Temperatures  of  fifty  degrees  below  zero  Fahrenheit  are 
not  uncommon  on  Peace  River.  At  present  the  country 
is  a  land  for  strong  men  who  wish  to  "rough  it"  rather 
than  for  settlers  with  families. 

Before  we  left  the  Hope  the  captain  had  told  us  that 


THE   END  OF   IT  2cyi 

we  would  hardly  reach  Peace  River  Crossing  in  time  to 
make  the  Tuesday  afternoon  train  for  Edmonton,  and, 
as  we  had  to  tie  up  once  on  account  of  dense  fog  and 
were  delayed  a  couple  of  hours  taking  the  surveyors 
aboard,  his  prognostication  proved  correct.  It  was  not 
until  well  after  nightfall  of  Tuesday  that,  having  felt 
our  way  the  last  few  miles,  we  at  last  tied  up  at  the 
Crossing  and  were  once  more  at  rail-head. 

A  wait  of  three  days  at  the  Crossing  for  the  next 
train  and  a  journey  of  over  two  thousand  miles  still  lay 
between  me  and  home,  but  these  were  things  to  be 
regarded  lightly.  My  "Great  Adventure"  in  the  Do- 
main of  the  North  was  over.  The  thought  gave  me  a 
feeling  of  sadness.     What  has  been  can  never  be  again  ! 

As  I  look  back  on  the  trip  from  a  distance  of  several 
months,  one  aspect  stands  out  above  all  others — our 
remarkable  luck  in  escaping  serious  trouble.  We  ex- 
perienced, hardships,  we  often  worked  to  the  limit  of 
endurance,  repeatedly  on  land  and  water  we  slipped 
past  situations  that  might  easily  have  resulted  in  dis- 
aster, but  slip  past  them  we  did,  and  at  no  time  did  we 
meet  with  serious  mishap.  Both  of  us  came  through 
at  the  end  stronger  physically  than  when  we  started. 

The  trials,  the  hardships,  the  discomforts,  the  dis- 
appointments of  the  long  journey  are  already  receding 
into  the  mists.  Only  the  joys,  the  delights,  stand  out 
in  bold  relief.  Again  I  see  the  swift,  clear  shallows,  the 
miniature  rapids,  the  leaping  trout  of  Crooked  River; 
the  white-trunked  poplars,  the  dark  spires  of  spruce,  the 


292    ON  THE   HEADWATERS  OF   PEACE   RIVER 

fantastic  cliffs  of  the  Parsnip  and  the  Finlay;  the  gorge 
and  swirling  waters  of  Deserter's  Canyon;  illimitable 
wastes  of  mountains  silent  in  primeval  sleep;  the  three 
towering  summits  of  Mount  Lloyd  George  and  the  vast 
sea  of  ice  beside  it;  mountain-sheep  quietly  grazing  on  a 
plot  of  green  beyond  an  Alpine  valley;  the  ragged  peaks 
where  the  majestic  Peace  bursts  its  way  through  the 
barrier  wall  toward  the  Mackenzie  and  the  Arctic  Sea. 
I  hear  again  the  shrill  whistle  of  siffleurs  on  black  cliffs, 
the  roar  of  rushing  rivers,  the  soughing  of  the  wind 
through  wastes  of  forest  verdure.  These  and  a  hundred 
other  scenes  and  experiences  are  past,  but  they  will  be 
a  part  of  me  forever. 

The  geographical  results  were  meagre  enough;  I  had 
not  expected  it  to  be  otherwise.  But  how  rich  those 
months  were  in  experiences,  in  things  to  be  remembered  ! 
When  my  hair  is  thin  and  white,  when  age  has  stiffened 
my  joints  beyond  any  except  the  shortest  walk,  when 
eye  and  trigger-finger  no  longer  work  together,  when  I 
huddle  close  to  the  fire  and  look  back  into  the  long  past 
filled  with  many  things  I  would  fain  forget,  I  shall  recall, 
with  some  of  the  old  glow,  that  once  I  climbed  beyond 
the  barrier  ranges  and  looked  upon  a  world  that  was 
new,  that  for  a  short  while  I  lived  a  life  such  as  my  fore- 
fathers led,  a  life  that  is  passing,  that  the  world  can 
never  know  again. 


APPENDIX 


A  VOYAGE  OF  DISCOVERY 

FROM   THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    PORTAGE    IN    PEACE 

RIVER  TO  THE  SOURCES  OF  FINLAY'S  BRANCH 

AND  NORTHWESTWARD,  SUMMER,   1824 

By  John  Finlay  (H.  B.  Co.) 

(notes  taken   by  J.  B,  TYRRELL  FROM   A  MANUSCRIPT  IN  THE   HANDS 
OF   J.    MCDOUGALL,    ESQ.,    CHIEF    FACTOR    H.    B.    CO.) 

On   May    13   left  the   Rocky  Mt.    Portage   Establishment.     The 
party  consisted  of  Messrs.   Finlay,  McDonald  Munson,  6  Canoc- 
men.  La  Prise  &  wife,  in  all  10  persons. 
14-18.     Spent  crossing  the  portage. 
19.     Started  up  the  river.     The  Iroquois  have  been  accustomed  to 

hunt  up  Finlay's  River. 
22nd.     Came  to  Finlay's  river  &  made  three  miles  up  it.     Took  an 

old  Slave  Indian  &  family  as  guide. 
May  23.     Made  16-18  geo  miles  W.N.W.  (mag.) 

24.  12  N.  W. 

25.  16  N.W.  by  N.  &  N.W. 

26.  Arrived  at  the  Forks  55  or  60  geo.  miles  up  river  in  a  straight 

course  N.W.     The  S.W.  fork  rises  near  Bear  Lake,  one  of 
the  sources  of  the  Babine  River. 

27.  Went  up  rocky  river  from  Forks  12  miles  to  a  portage. 

28.  Last  night  two  of  his  canoemen  deserted.     Crossed  the  portage 

HOC  paces  &  went  on  4  miles. 

29.  Made  13  miles. 

30.  "        8       "         Soft  beds  along  this  river  are  cut  out  mto 
towers,  bastions  &c. 

31.  Made  a  few  miles. 

293 


294  APPENDIX 

June  I.  Ascended  the  main  river  to  the  Forks  at  a  distance  of  36 
or  40  geog.  miles  above  deserters  portage.  Here  a  small 
branch*  about  H  of  the  river,  comes  down  the  same  valley, 
while  the  large  branch  ;3  of  the  whole  comes  through  the 
range  to  the  S.W.  The  Slave  guide  said  you  could  go  2  days 
up  the  small  branch  in  canoes.  It  then  breaks  up  in  small 
branches  &  you  would  go  over  a  height  of  land,  where  there 
are  some  lakes,  and  then  into  branches  of  the  Liard  River. 

The  large  branch,  coming  from  S.  W.,  takes  its  rise  in  a 
large  lake  called  Thutade.  Took  this  branch  &  made  2-3 
miles  on  it  towards  the  S.W. 

June  2.     Made  6-7  miles  of  difficult  travelling  up  this  river. 

June  3.  3  miles  straight  a  pt.  or  two  N.  of  N.W.  Over  portage  & 
through  canons,  very  difficult  navigation. 

4.  River  very  bad,  but  made  3  miles  westward  &  came  on  an  In- 

dian road  &  a  camp  of  Thicannies. 

5.  Made  a  short  distance  up  the  river  to  the  head  of  a  portage  on 

the  right  345  paces  long. 

6.  Ascended  the  gorge  to  an  open  valley,  up  which  they  went  2-3 

miles  &  camped.  This  pt.  he  places  as  the  most  northerly 
pt.  of  this  branch  of  the  river. 

7.  Made  yA  miles  W.S.W. 

The  river  now  forms  island  shallows,  with  banks  of  loose 
stones  &  gravel. 

This  evening  came  in  sight  of  a  high  peaked  range  of  snow- 
covered  mts. 

8.  Made  6-7  mMes  W.S.W.  up  river  full  of  gravel  shoals. 

9-1 1.  8  miles  S.W.  through  narrow  chasms  to  a  small  lake  iK"  m. 
long  with  a  level  plain  extending  to  the  foot  of  the  Peak  Mts. 
Here  he  found  some  of  Thicannies  fishing.  Sent  off  two  lads 
for  the  old  chief  Mithridates,  who  is  fishing  at  a  lake  called 
Thucatade. 

12.  Passed  some  portages  in  Rapid  River  &  camped  on  a  portage 

1450  paces  long. 

13.  Crossed  the  portage  by  11  a.m.     It  is  now  32  days  since  leav- 

ing R.  Mt.  Establt.  Following  Summary  R.M.  portage  6 
days,  to  mouth  of  Finlay's  R.  3  or  4  days,  to  deserters  portage 
5  days,  to  branch  passed  on  ist  inst.  4  days,  to  Pt.  du  Mouton 

*  Evidently  Fox  River. 


APPENDIX 


295 


4  days,  to  the  end  of  this  portage  to  Fishing  Lake  3  days, 
or  about  26  days  travel.  In  high  water  river  probably  not 
practicable  at  all. 

Paddled  up  the  Calm  river  to  the  Fishing  lakes  where  they 
came  to  some  camps  of  Thicannies.  The  river  is  said  to 
take  its  rise  in  lake  Thutade,  4  days  travel  by  land  away, 
but  with  the  exception  of  one  high  tall  the  river  is  probably 
not  bad. 

14.  Mithridates  arrived  with  the  Indians,  in  all  7  married  men  & 

7  young  men.  He  told  him  that  it  was  three  days  journey 
across  the  Peak  Mts.  from  the  source  of  this  river  to  Bears 
Lake,  the  river  from  which  flows  into  Babine  Lake.  Mr. 
Finlay  then  goes  on  to  say  that  he  found  the  country  west  of 
the  Mts.  very  rocky  &  mountainous  with  dwarf  wood,  and 
with  some  small  plains  in  the  valleys  of  the  rivers. 

Asked  for  men  to  guide  him  to  the  source  of  the  river  & 
across  mts,  but  the  chief  said  that  there  was  now  too  much 
snow  in  the  mts. 

15.  Remained  in  Camp. 

16.  Indians  said  they  did  not  want  to  take  him  across  the  mts. 

but  he  resolved  to  go. 

17.  Indians  promised  to  take  him  through  the  mts.  a  little  later 

in  the  summer  when  there  was  less  snow,  &  two  would  go 
to  Thutade.  Left  camp  &  made  8K  miles  to  River  Thuca- 
tade,  which  is  about  30  geog.  miles  long  straight.  Made  2 
miles  up  the  river. 

18.  Ascending  the  river. 

19-22.     Ascending  the  river.     Falls  &  swift  water. 

23.  Arrived  at  Lake  Thutade  at  the  source  of  the  river.  The  lake 
runs  S.  by  E.  or  S.  8  or  10  geog.  miles  straight  &  8  or  10  miles 
more  S.W.  by  S.  &  S.S.W.  by  compass.  The  lake  is  formed 
of  a  number  of  circular  lakes  &  open  narrows.  Depth  in 
lakes  30  fathoms.  Lake  i-ij^  mile  wide.  Remained  at  this 
lake  till  June  30  at  least,  when  the  Journal  ends. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 
THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

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